Retreat, Hell - Episode 1 - 18.5 Manuscript (Patreon)

A/N: Hey, all! One of the things I've been working on is cleaning up all current episodes to submit to a publisher. That's been done, just waiting to hear back.

A lot of the editing work was just cleaning up typo mistakes and other technical errors of writing, adding some more polish, etc. I also took the opportunity to clean up a few conflicts and inconsistencies, and correct a couple things that didn't really make all that much sense, and other various artifacts of not originally planning this to be a series.

So, here is the complete works of Retreat, Hell, all in one, convenient package! (Also known as testing Patreon's character limit!)

EDIT: Holy shit, it let me post the whole thing! For more convenient reading, here is the Google Drive link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-azWE43tTITGt_L7acX1hf-bZGpGUeIE/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=118362223948398633945&rtpof=true&sd=true

Retreat, Hell

By Ilithi Dragon

Episode 1

“What kind of fucking shit-show is this?”

Michaels stepped out of the Humvee before it had completely stopped. He ripped the silver oakleaf off his helmet before shoving it onto his head, annoyed that he had neglected to remove it earlier. He glanced at his watch. 0922. Fuck, and we’re already eight hours into the day.

The convoy behind his Humvee dispersed around what was supposed to be the Ganlin field headquarters. “It looks like we rolled into a fuck show, sir,” his driver commented, heavy on the Bronx accent.

“What it looks like is a three-ring circus being looted by a stampeding herd of horned, fox-cat … things,” Michaels growled, slamming the door behind him.

“Recon reported the Ganlin were in trouble, but it didn’t sound this bad,” Sergeant Major Barakis said, walking up from his own Humvee with an unforgivably chipper spring in his step. “Something must have changed.”

“Let’s go see what it is, then,” Michaels said, turning to march into the chaos of the disintegrating field command, a retinue of his staffers, aides, and a fire team escort falling in behind him.

“Isn’t this supposed to be the bulk of the Ganlin army?” Major Winters asked. His new XO had only just relieved barely a week before. She struck him as competent, but he still hadn’t had time to properly get to know her.

At least she just transferred from a frontline deployment, Michaels thought. This isn’t the Middle East, but we’ll need her combat experience.

“The Ganlin Royal Host is most of their standing army, yes,” Barakis answered, still too cheerfully. Michaels had noticed that the more things went to shit, the happier his Sergeant Major got. He swore he could almost see the forty-six-year-old Marine absorbing happiness from the panic and mayhem around him.

“Wait, are they ganlin or keshmen?” First Lieutenant Simms asked. Simms was the HQ company’s XO, and acting as CO while Captain Nyles was on convalescent leave.

“The species is keshmin,” Barakis corrected. “Their nation is the Kingdom of Ganlin.”

“How are you able to keep all of this straight, Sergeant Major?” Winters asked.

“Eidetic memory, ma’am.”

Winters gave him a side-long glance before her attention was drawn by the scene ahead of them.

Michaels stopped as two keshmin drug a chest across their path. Their steel helmets askew and half their plate and chainmail missing, they screeched at him in a chirping language he didn’t understand.

“Tell me why we’re here,” Lieutenant Colonel Michaels said as he watched the two keshmin struggle to haul the chest away. He had meant it as a rhetorical question, less rude than “fubar”… but the sergeant major took him literally, of course.

“Some kind of portal opened up less than forty-five minutes from San Diego,” Barakis answered.

“Uh-huh.” Michaels sped up towards a cluster of the largest, brightest-looking pavilions.

“Fuzzy aliens with magic on the other side.”

“Yep.” Now where the hell is that native liason we were promised?

“Losing a war with puritanical elves with even more magic.”

“Mhm.”

“Frontline of the war and both armies are half-a-day’s march from the portal.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, and the elves are bent on exterminating anything that isn’t an elf. And when we sent through a diplomatic party to open communications with all sides, they sent our ambassadors back to us in very small pieces packed into very fancy boxes.”

“Right,” Michaels said, moving forward again.

“They couldn’t make these guys any more of a comic book villain, could they?” Winters asked.

“Probably not, ma’am.”

“Ah!” Michaels announced. “This must be it.” He turned towards a three-peaked pavilion, with three out of four sides rolled up for air, the red and blue canvas showed only minor soiling from field use.

Inside, however, was only disarray.

Keshmin in fancy clothing and armor screeched at each other over tables strewn with maps, markers, a couple swords and knives, and a dozen or more items Michaels couldn’t identify. As the Marines entered the pavilion, the keshmin twitched and looked up, almost in unison. Their ears swiveling to catch more sound, but not towards the humans. Over the chaos of the camp, Michaels heard the familiar thump and rumble of not-so-distant explosions.

Chaos descended again, this time with a feverish pace, until one of the keshmin with fancier armor barked over the din. Pointing about as he shouted orders, he managed to restore some semblance of order before turning to the humans as they approached.

“You in charge here?” Michaels asked.

The well-dressed keshmin yipped a response. Catching himself mid-sentence with a growl, he turned and barked at a harried-looking assistant. After rummaging through an over-turned chest, the young man rushed over with a softly-glowing, crystal … thing, wrapped in thin bands of gold and silver.

The assistant yipped a question, and the Ganlin commander impatiently waved a hand at him. With a wavering breath, the younger keshmin steeled himself, then his eyes lit up bright silver as he snapped the crystal in two.

The crystal shattered into specs of energy and a concussive pulse burst across the camp, making the surrounding tents quiver. Michaels felt something tingle in his head, and the young keshmin promptly collapsed, flopping on his tail with a yipped, “Oof.”

“I am Lord General Ki-wan Rurn Yangri,” the older keshmin said.

Michaels snapped his gaze from the assistant, who seemed to be merely stunned, to the Lord General. He could understandthe fellow! Not as if the keshmin were speaking English, but as if Michaels was fluent in whatever language he was speaking.

“I am Grand Marshal of the Royal Host and Supreme Commander of Armies of the Kingdom of Ganlin. That mana crystal was worth two chests of gold, and could have powered a heavy artillery piece for a week, but I feel it is worth far more for both our forces to be able to understand each other.” He held out his right hand in a familiar gesture, his left casually resting on the hilt of the sword on his hip.

“Lieutenant Colonel Henry Michaels,” Michaels replied, extending his own army to shake hands only to have the Lord General clasp his forearm instead. He quickly adapted. “Second Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment, First Marine Division. What’s the state of things here?”

“Disaster,” Yangri replied. Gesturing towards the encroaching sounds of battle. “The bastard elves managed to force-march nearly twice the forces into battle than we expected, and sent the heaviest concentration of their mages and gemblade regiments right down the middle. We did our best to hold, but what artillery we have left barely flickered their shields, and they decimated our pike formations before they even closed to melee.” He sighed. “We’re fighting a rearguard as we fall back, but the whole line is collapsing. The elves are pouring through, not half a mile away, and the Royal Host is in total rout. We have no choice but to retreat.”

Michaels took this all in, nodding as the Lord General spoke. It was a dire situation, and with the Ganlin army in shambles nothing would stand between the portal and Earth. But he had also read the reports initial recon had made on the capabilities of both forces, limited as they were with barely more than three days since the portal first opened. Despite the urgency of the situation, some small part of himself couldn’t help but be amused by the opportunity to repeat history the universe had seen fit to give him.

“Retreat?” he said. He forced his own expression to stay stone-cold neutral, but he felt the determination of the Marines behind him harden. “Hell, we just got here!”

He turned, leaving the Lord General looking nonplussed. “Sergeant Major, get those trucks unloaded. Anything that isn’t combat gear gets dropped on the deck. Everything and everyone else who was issued a rifle heads to the front.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Barakis snapped to attention, then did an about face and marched out of the pavilion, barking orders.

“Lieutenant, take two squads and keep them behind to set up a command post. Radio’s your first priority.”

“Right away, sir!” Simms replied, turning on his heel and racing off to give his own orders.

“Major, get on the horn with the boys at FOB Tolkien. We need them to send up everything they’ve got, right now, no holding back.”

“I’m on it, sir,” she said, turning away to follow after Simms.

Yangri did a double-take as Michaels turned back to him. “Was that a woman?!?” he asked, pointing after Winters.

Michaels ignored the comment. “What forces do you have that are still under command, Lord General, and where are they positioned?”

*****

Corporal Jamie Bradford was having a very interesting day. And I’m beginning to think it’s not the goodkind of interesting, after all. Her squad was a rifle squad, but she and most of First Platoon had been loaded up with the headquarters company and sent to help set up a forward base at the Ganlin army camp. Shaking her head as a tingle flared between her ears and shot down her spine, she thought back over the chaos of the last three days.

There was the rush to stand up and secure the Earth side of a fucking portal to another world when it first appeared, then the rush to set up a FOB on the otherside of the portal, which some asshat had managed to get named “Tolkien,” and then the rush to link up with their new, medieval, alien allies, and now they were maybe three hours into a war that Congress just declared against genocidal fucking elves from another world. She chuckled. As crazy and mixed-up as the last couple days have been, I’m surprised I’m even still with the right unit.

“What are you laughing at, Bradford?”

“Just wondering how much more shuffling around it would take for us to get dumped in with an Air Force unit, Sergeant.”

“Ain’t no five-star hotels with in-house spas around here, Jabs,” Sergeant Ramirez said.

“Nah, but a girl can dream, Sergeant.”

“Yeah, well, save your dreams for later. Looks like the Sergeant Major’s putting us to work.” A communal groan sounded throughout the truck they’d been crammed into. “Alright, everybody out! And somebody wake up Hicks.”

Bradford thunked her fist down onto Corporal Hicks’ helmet twice, startling him awake. “Wake up, fuckface,” she said before jumping out of the truck with the rest of her fire team.

“Man, fuck you!” followed her out of the truck.

Once out of the truck, Bradford’s mood began to darken. Away from the rumbling engine, she could make out the sound of explosions in the distance. They hadn’t been given much intel about the “magic” weaponry used by the elves and the keshmin, but from what she did know, they must have been closer to the line of battle than Intel thought. Shouldn’t really be surprised at that …

A more immediate threat presented itself as the Sergeant Major moved down the dispersed line of Humvees, trucks, and MATVs, dolling out orders and work with the angry glee possessed only by the senior enlisted. With an internal groan, Bradford slung her rifle over her shoulder and corralled her fire team into the work party.

She hated work as much as the next Marine, but she was a career-driven female in one of the Corps’ first integrated combat units, with three generations of Marines behind her. Slacking off was just not an option for her, and she had to keep her natural competitiveness always on.

Bradford and her fire team were soon hauling gear out of trucks and the back of Humvees and stacking it on the ground with little ceremony or order. Some of the Marines stopped to gawk at the locals, who looked like they were scrambling to pack up or haul away whatever they could carry. A few of the locals stopped to ogle at them, and as Bradford passed some of them, she was amazed to find that she could understand their yips and barks.

“Quit yer gawkin’, Private!” Gunnery Sergeant Wilkins snapped. “This Humvee’s not gonna unload itself!”

“Gunny, they’ve got fucking horns!”

“And I’ll shove them up your ass if you don’t get it in gear, marine! Get back to work!” Even the few locals who stopped to stare at them quickly made themselves scarce. Bradford considered that to be a wise move on their part.

The HQ Company XO came through and snagged a couple squads, directing them to start breaking out and assembling equipment rather than just stacking it. Bradford found herself hauling some equipment over to where they were setting up, next to a gaudy-looking pavilion. She had been listening to the intermittent explosions getting closer in just the ten minutes they had spent unloading, and combined with the general disarray of the alien camp she knew things weren’t going well. Shouts could be heard not far away, and as she and a private she didn’t recognize set their crate down, she heard the new XO talking with the radio operator.

“Ma’am, TOLKIEN reports that most of Second Battery from Third Battalion is on site, but they just started un-packing. 4th Battalion reports they’re still bringing the second half of Alpha Company through the portal, and Delta Company only just showed up on the Earth side with elements of 1st Battalion.” The radio operator paused. “They’re scrambling, but most of our assets are still unpacking.”

“Then we get half of Alpha Company! Tell them that anything that’s not already on its way needs to start rolling here now. We need whatever they can send us, ASAP! Do they have an ETA on the flyboys yet?”

“A squadron of Cobras is en route from Pendleton, ETA one-five mikes. Air Force has two flights of A-10s en route from Davis-Monthan, ETA twenty mikes.”

Feeling the gut-sinking butt-pucker of her trouble instincts kicking in, Bradford stopped her turn back to the trucks and looked across the camp. “Shit …” Streaming through the tents was a mass of people, keshmin, all soldiers. A trickle at first, but she could see a growing throng further ahead. Some of them were carrying pikes, or strange, glowing staffs. Others had abandoned their weapons. Some were wounded.

Bradford recognized a rout when she saw one.

“TWO FIVE!” Colonel Michaels bellowed, stepping out of the pavilion. “Lock and load, we’re moving out!” Bradford unslung her rifle and moved to join the rest of her squad. “RETREAT!”

“HELL!” Bradford shouted back with the rest of the Marines.

“TWO FIVE!”

“RETREAT, HELL!”

“MOVE OUT!”

“First Platoon! On me!” Lieutenant Meyers shouted, waving his platoon forward through the camp. Bradford fell in with the rest of her squad on her platoon leader. “Vehicles gotta go around the camp, we’re pushing through on foot to plug the hole! Double time, Marines! Oorah!”

Bradford surged forward, past the trampled tents and fleeing keshmin, toward the sound of battle. Smoke and dust started to fill the air, some from fires she could smell burning, others from weapons fire. The rate of thumps and explosions did not match the rhythm that what she was used to hearing. Drawing closer to the fight, she could here electric zaps and crackles, more shouts and cries, and the clash of metal.

Moving through the haze of battle, Bradford passed more wounded. Some had collapsed from their injuries and lay keening on the ground. Some were dead. Some still walking, their wounds fresh. As the marines moved against the current of fleeing troops, the Ganlin soldiers shied away from them. Is it because we appear alien, or because they bear more than a passing resemblance to the elves they’re fighting?

More shouting, and flashes and crackles ahead, and Bradford was in the fight. A figure loomed out of the haze, tall and lithe. Squared off against it was a keshmin soldier, shorter, stockier, but still thinner than the humans Bradford was used to seeing. The keshmin held a pike before him, his ears flat against his skull as he backed away from what Bradford assumed must be an “elf” – lithe and humanoid, but the too-pretty face leered with oddly flat teeth.

Two more keshmin lay dead in the dirt, their armor and bodies split open.

The elf raised a glowing blade, easily knocked aside the pike of the exhausted keshmin, and stabbed forward –

Bradford didn’t hesitate.

*****

Rinn Ahyat stared death in the face. Fiercely gripping the haft, he managed to keep his pike pointed at the gemblade soldier and unwavering as he carefully stepped back. The elf casually stepped over the dismembered bodies of Rinn’s comrades. Rinn spared the bodies a glance. He and Kehkk had managed to stick together since they were assigned to the same unit at the start of the campaign. The other keshmin he had only known for the last three hours since getting thrust into their pike formation.

Ears flat against his skull, he snarled defiance at the elf. Rinn had lost his helmet at some point, he couldn’t remember how, and he had never been issued a full hauberk. He was a pulse artificer, not a front-line pikeman, but the mana crystal in his stave had run dry three days before and there weren’t enough replacements to go around.

Every Soldier of the Host was a pikeman, however, and he knew enough of how to use one to be useful. Not that he made much difference. They might have held, despite the reinforcements the elves summoned apparently out of thin air, if they had artificers reinforcing their armor and weapons and shielding against the elven mages. With more artillery to punch through the elven shields. More archers and crossbows to wear the enemy formations down at range. He had felt the surge and tingling effects of the mass translation spell cast back at the camp, and cursed the lack of artillery that holding such a powerful crystal in reserve had cost them.

The elf absently drug his crimson blade through Kehkk’s corpse as he swaggered towards Rinn, the mana-charged edge burning its way through flesh as much as it sliced. For a moment, he saw the tattered remains of his mother and sisters, the smoldering ruin of the home he had joined the Host to defend. The leveled town he grown up in, destroyed despite their success in driving the elves back.

Rinn’s senses snapped back to the present, the collapse and route of the Host around him. The total defeat of what remained to defend Ganlin and all her people. He locked eyes with the elf, who regarded him with a contemptuous smirk, utterly confident in his superiority. No pikeman had ever stood against a gemblade alone and won. No day is a good day to die, he thought, but today is as good a day as any. Steeling himself, he braced his back foot for a lunge towards death.

Three deafening bangs behind him snapped him out of his reverie. He blinked in shock as three holes appeared in the gemblade in rapid succession, the third punching into the elf’s face right below his right eye and blowing brains and shattered bone out of the back of his helmet.

Rinn stumbled back, tripping over his pike and dropping it as he landed on his tail. The blade’s crimson glow flickered out, and the elf fell over dead.

“Contact!” someone shouted, and a rapid staccato of deafening cracks and bangs erupted around him. Forms sprinted past him, wearing unfamiliar armor and clothing, carrying weapons that spit fire and thunder at the elves. He gaped as elves dropped left and right.

One of the weapons boomed just above him. Flashes of gold flying through the air caught his eye. Before he could turn back to see who these new allies were, someone grabbed the back of his gambeson and his view jerked around as he was physically dragged across the battlefield.

Yipping in surprise, he fumbled for his dropped pike, but failed to grab it before it was left behind. The crackle of spell fire and mana pulses zipped around him as the elven mages returned fire, and the weapon of whomever had his collar barked three more times before Rinn was hauled into cover behind a half-demolished stone wall. Acrid smoke filled his nostrils with an unfamiliar tang.

His collar released, Rinn scrambled to turn around, and found himself face-to-face with a stocky elf! It grinned at him, showing muted canines no elf ever had, before they both reflexively ducked as a salvo of fireshard spells slammed into their piece of wall. “Kawalski!” the stocky elf shouted over its shoulder. “Get me suppressive fire on the right!”

“Aye, Corporal!” someone shouted in reply, followed by a rapid burst of thunder. Rinn had never heard anything shoot so fast.

These must be the ‘new friends’ that the high lords announced yesterday. We all thought it was useless platitudes from the Khalim’Khali, but …

Corporal next to him was already popping out of cover, lining up on an elven mage to their right. The weapon barked once, and he saw the mage’s shield flare hard despite the hot piece of metal that bounced off his face. Recoiling from the noise and impact, he caught a glimpse of some mechanism moving as the terrifying weapon barked again, spitting out another golden tube of metal. To his surprise, the mage’s shield barely flickered as it collapsed and the mage fell to the ground.

“The wizards are shielded!” Corporal shouted. “Double-tap the wizards!” The weapon barked twice more, but with the last shot something caught and the mechanism inside didn’t return forward.

Fearing his savior’s weapon was broken, Rinn peaked around their cover and blanched under his black fur. A formation of legionnaires was sprinting at them. While no gemblades, they were still highly-trained and seasoned soldiers, and every one of them was equipped with enchanted swords and armor. And they’re almost right on top of us!

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” Corporal shouted, almost in his ear, and the larger tube under the main tube emitted a flash of light and a thwuump. Something popped out of the end that was moving just slow enough to see. The Corporal grabbed his collar again and yanked him back under cover as the object struck the ground in the middle of the elven formation. He felt the concussive thump through the ground, and the explosion briefly deafened him.

Ears ringing, he lay on top of Corporal for a moment before the stocky elf shoved him off. He saw the creature move and talk as it worked its weapon, dropping a box out of it and slapping a new one in, but he couldn’t make out what Corporal was saying over the constant bell in his head.

Cautiously, Rinn poked his head out of cover to see what had happened to the elves, only to stare at the dismembered corpses scattered over several tails.

He heard some muffled noises beside him, but paid them no mind even when they got more insistent, until a gloved hand clapped down onto his shoulder.

Startled, he turned to find the stocky elf looking at him with a strange expression. “Are you okay?” the creature shouted, and Rinn realized it was an expression of concern. So alien and bizarre to see on an elvish … or elvish-looking face.

“YEAH!” Rinn shouted, louder than he needed to as hearing came rushing back. Grimacing, he repeated with a less-intense shout. “Yeah!” He flinched down as another salvo of shard spells struck their cover. “Who are you?!”

“Corporal Bradford, Second Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment, United States Marine Corps!” the stocky elf shouted back, holding out a hand with a smile. Is Corporal his name or his rank? Rinn stared at the proffered limb a moment before extending his own hand. “Second Artificier Rinn Ahyat, Third Line, Fifth Regiment, Royal Host of the Kingdom of Ganlin.” He almost yipped in surprise as Bradford took his hand instead of grabbing his forearm, but managed to maintain his composure.

As Bradford gave his hand a firm squeeze and a shake, the pieces all started to fall together for Rinn. The rumors of a last-ditch measure. The shortage of mana crystals. The hard surge of magic three days ago, and the renewed Elven offensive. The rumors of a new ally. The mass translation spell, less than an hour ago.

It’s impossible … Mere speculation. They couldn’t have …

A burst of raw mana slammed into their piece of a wall, fracturing off small chunks of stone. Rinn reached for his staff on instinct, only to be reminded that he had nothing more than a knife on his belt.

“Looks like the pointy-eared bastards are pushing back,” Bradford said, leaning out to spit more thunder and fire at the elves. The battle continued to rage around them, and Rinn saw more of the stocky elves streaming in from behind while his own people fled the approaching elven legions. Not all of the Ganlin soldiers were fleeing. Many just kept on going once they passed the growing line of their new allies, but some rallied and began digging in, or forming into new lines.

Corporal Bradford ducked back just in time to evade another burst of spell fire, and as the snap and crackle of spells flying through the air increased in intensity, Rinn feared that their new allies were only delaying the inevitable a few minutes.

Then a wheeled carriage roared up beside them, made entirely of metal and hauling itself by some unknown magic, with no draft animals. On top, a weapon jutted from an armored cupola. Spells zipped and crackled by, many slamming into the carriage with plinks and clanks and bursts of fire, all to no effect. The weapon on top spat death in return, hammering out with a booming roar. Rinn peeked around his cover and saw ranks of elves knocked flat by this weapon, and several others that joined in as more of these self-propelled carriages joined their line. Dozens more of these alien foot troops came up with them, following behind the machines, using them as cover.

Three more Marines slid into against the remains of their wall on the other side of Bradford, each bulkier than the last, and nearly shoved Rinn out of cover on his side. “Making friends with the locals, Corporal?”

“At least I’ve got friends, Kawalski,” Bradford snarked back. “Where did you assholes lose yourselves at?”

“Had to deal a group of those lightsaber fucks, then Gomez got himself shot in the chest with one of them magic missiles before we could get to cover.”

“Because somebody wanted to Rambo his SAW like a fucking dumbass!”

“We’re fighting an army of magical elves straight from a Lord of the Rings convention, who wouldn’t want to Rambo a SAW?”

“Shut the fuck up, Kawalski,” Bradford shouted. “Gomez, you good?”

“Yeah, I’m good, Corporal. Cracked my plate and knocked me on my ass, but I’m fine.”

“Who’s your friend, Corporal?” the third marine on the end asked, peeking around his side of the wall before ducking back from another spell burst.

“Guys, this is Second Artificer Ahyat. Second Artificier, this is my fire team, Lance Corporal Kawalski, Private First Class Miller, and Private Gomez.”

“Nice to see the Corporal’s got a new boyfriend,” Kawalski grinned at him.

“Kawalski, I will shove that SAW so far up your ass you’ll be cycling the bolt with your goddamn teeth if you don’t shut the fuck up!”

“Oooh, don’t tempt me with a good time!”

“Jesus, Kawalski, just go fucking kill something.”

“Now you’re talking my language!” Kawalski heaved himself up and stood behind the wall. He braced his weapon on top of the wall and with a whooping yell, sprayed a long burst of fire towards the enemy. “Fuck yeah! GET SOME!”

“Crazy bastard!” Miller shouted at him while taking shots from around is corner.

Rinn stared at them. “You’re all insane!”

“Ha!” Bradford laughed. “We’re Marines!” As if that explained it.

Just when Rinn though things couldn’t get any crazier, Gomez piped up. “Hey, cavalry’s here!” The ground began to rumble under Rinn’s tail, and a monstrous behemoth roared up the rise their piece of wall had been built on. Larger than any carriage he had ever heard of being made – vastly bigger than the first set of terrifying alien machines – this one was covered in impossibly thick plates of armor, and rolled on giant metal links. A terrifying weapon was mounted on top, and it swung from side to side like a predator looking for its next meal.

“What in the name of all the gods is that?!”

“M1 Abrams!” Bradford grinned as the beast rolled to a stop alongside their wall. “Fourth Battalion’s finally arrived!”

“Ah, shit, they’re going to fire!” Miller said. “Cover your ears!”

“What?” Rinn chirped, clamping his hands over his ears. As loud as these Marines’ weapons were, if they were concerned about noise, he wasn’t going to wait for an answer.

Then the hammer of the gods thumped next to him. The weapon was so powerful the monster next to him jerked back in recoil, and the concussion kicked the dust out of his very soul. Rinn screamed.

“That!” Bradford shouted back. Another metal giant thumped its booming roar further down the line.

A door on the smaller carriage to their left opened, and a stocky elf whose bare skin was almost as dark as Rinn’s fur poked his head out. “On your feet, Marines! Air support’s inbound, orders are to prepare to advance!”

“You heard the man,” Bradford said, standing up and offering a hand to Rinn. He took it and she hauled him up beside her. Over the ringing in his ears, he heard a distant whump-whump-whump-whump, and wondered what new destructive terror these Marines from United States were about to unveil.

Offensive magic still crackled and zapped through the air around them, but little was directed at them. Bigger targets had taken the elves’ attention. Rinn looked out at the battleground before him, the field he had spent the last day being pushed back across by the elven legion. He thought he had seen devastation wrought by their two armies as they had pummeled each other across the tormented land. What he saw now was a hellscape. Bodies and pieces of bodies littered the cratered ground. Smoke and dust filled the air, and he coughed as the wind blew the acrid odor into his snout.

The distant whump-whump-whumpturned into a roar as multiple somethings thundered overhead. He looked up as several thin, boxy, angry-looking machines flew by, spitting smoke, fire, and death as they went. Kawalski whooped as their trails of fire met elven shields and shoved them aside like they weren’t even there.

“Cobras,” Bradford said.

“What?” Rinn looked back at the Corporal. Definitely a rank.

“They’re AH-1 Viper Cobras. Attack helicopters.” As if that explained everything.

The attack helicopters split to either side of the elven army, continuing to spit fire and destruction as they tore into their flanks. Then Rinn heard a distinctive sound unlike anything he had ever heard before.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTT

A rapid series of lights blinked and flashed across the elven legion, followed by the delayed sound of a crackling staccato of explosions.

“Woooohoooo!” Kawalski crowed. “Fuck yeah! Bring the brrrt, baby!”

The great beast to their right growled forward and thumped it’s godhammer once more. The carriage to their left surged ahead as well, its own weapon hammering away. Rinn struggled to hear anything at all over the deafening ringing in his ears. He felt Bradford slap his back, and he nearly stumbled.

“-on, Ahyat, let’s go give these bastards some payback!”

“Ha, look at that, Bradford’s already beating up her new boyfriend!”

Rinn started to roll his own eyes at Kawalski, then stopped and did a double-take at Bradford. “Wait, what?!?”

HER?!?!

“Get your fat ass moving, Kawalski,” Bradford snapped. “Move out Marines! TWO FIVE!”

“RETREAT, HELL!”

Episode 2

“Where in the five hells did you come from?!” Bradford looked over at Rinn. She and her fire team had been corralled into following them as they advanced behind a Humvee with a collection of other Marines. Along the way, he had found some weird stick thing with arcane inlays and a couple crystals on a fallen keshmin, and seemed much more secure carrying it. “And what are you?!”

“We’re aliens, brah!” one of the Marines said. Rinn looked at him like he wasn’t sure if he was merely putting on the effect of an idiot, or actually one.

“We’re humans,” Bradford replied, ignoring Stephens. She knew he was an idiot. “We came through the portal.”

“Portal?! What-” He was interrupted by the thumping boom of the nearby Abram’s main gun. The 120mm cannon was deafening, and the keshmin winced in pain, his mobile, tufted ears flicking erratically. One of the other marines took pity on him, and plopped a set of Mickey Mouse earmuffs on his head. They were not designed for his head shape at all, and combined with his startled twitch and head tilt at their sudden appearance, Bradford had to struggle to not laugh at him.

“Don’t ask us,” she continued as he adjusted the earmuffs and sighed in relief when the Humvee’s mah deuce fired a long burst. “It just popped up three days ago. We have no idea where it came from.”

Further conversation was halted by a massive spellburst that struck the front of the Abrams to their right and exploded. The low concussive thump shook the earth and nearly threw Rinn and the Marines to the ground as it heaved the front of the tank up, sending dirt and rocks flying into the air.

“What the fuck was that?!?!” Sergeant Gutierrez said, struggling to stand up as several more concussive thumps tore into the ground ahead of them.

“That was a channeled shardblast,” Rinn replied, as dirt and debris rained down around them. “I’ve seen those wipe out whole pike formations, even with artificer support.” He readjusted his mickey mouses as he stood up, and was almost startled off his feet again when the Abram’s main gun fired. “It’s not dead?!?”

“Those things can take a punch,” Miller said. As the tank jerked forward, shuddering at first. It slowly powered into and out of the crater formed by the shardburst, then quickly returned to its previous speed. Bits of metal and armor and other debris were left on the ground, but it remained functional.

The Humvees were not so well-armored, however. Another salvo rippled across the field, mostly hitting dirt, but not all. A Humvee opposite the Abrams took a direct hit, immediately crumpling the front in before the vehicle exploded in a ball of fire and shrapnel.

“Jesus fucking shitballs!” Kawalski shouted. “Where the fuck are those coming from?!”

“The archmages, at the center of their formations,” Rinn replied, pointing at spindly towers of gold and crystal scattered through the consolidating Elven forces. Even as he spoke, pulses of light flickered across the towers.

“INCOMING!” someone shouted, and Bradford’s world heaved.

The blast struck the ground just underneath the Humvee they were following. The explosion heaved the Humvee up, flipping it onto its side, while shards of energy ripped through the undercarriage. A marine in front of her had his leg ripped off at the knee by a low-angled shard.

Dirt rained around Bradford as she stared at the sky, struggling to regain her breath. She had a brief flash back to boot camp, lying in the sandpit at the bottom of a rope climb, a DI screaming at her. Do you think this is time for a nap, Marine?! Did you think this was a fucking day spa? Are you just going to lie there and let your unit down, Marine, or are you going to get the fuck up!”

Bradford heaved herself over as clods of dirt bounced off her helmet. Coughing, she shoved the world down and stumbled back to her feet. The Humvee was on its side, prevented from rolling onto its roof only by the armored turret enclosure. The left front wheel and suspension were nothing more than a mangled twist of wreckage. Somebody was screaming.

She stumbled towards the sound, past other Marines. Most were moving. Some weren’t.

Moving on instinct and rote training, Bradford dropped to her knees in front of the screaming Marine. Gutierrez, her squad sergeant. His left leg from just above the knee down was gone. She was pretty sure she could see it lying just out of reach in her peripheral vision, but she refused to let herself look at it.

“Corpsman!” she shouted, ripping off her gloves. “Stay with me, Sergeant,” she said, ripping his first aid kit out of its pouch on his armor. Fumbling the kit open, she snatched the tourniquet out.

“How bad is it, Jabs?” Gutierrez asked through gritted teeth.

“I’m afraid you’re not going to be winning any dance contests, Sergeant,” Bradford said as she wrapped the tourniquet around his thigh and began tightening it. “Because you’re a terrible dancer.”

“Hahahaagh …” Gutierrez grit his teeth and beat the ground as Bradford finished torqueing the tourniquet. Securing it, she was just starting to pull out the QuickClot gauze when HM2 Olanrewaju clapped her on the shoulder.

“I’ll take it from here, Jabs,” he said. She stepped aside and let the big Nigerian do his job.

“At least buy me dinner first, Doc,” she heard Gutierrez say as Olanrewaju started putting on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. He was pale and sweating, and his breathing was erratic.

Trusting the FMF Corpsman to do what he could for Gutierrez, Bradford turned to assess the situation.

The Humvee had shielded most of the Marines from the blast, but not all of them. Three others were down. Carlson was definitely dead, shrapnel to the face tended to do that to a person, but Kimber and Elder were still alive and receiving first aid. That leaves me with ten Marines combat-ready, eight from my squad plus two pick-up PFCs, HQ Company fobbits by the look of them, and one alien fox-cat. She paused, remembering that she was next in line after Gutierrez. And I’m in charge. Fuck.

She turned to the Humvee. It was nearly on its roof, and definitely out of commission. But maybe survivors, and definitely ammo. “Stephens, Gomez, Dubois! Get that Humvee open, and haul out any survivors and ammo you find. Sampson, get on the horn and let whoever’s set up at field command know that we need a medivac.” She turned to the fobbits, reading their nametapes. “Clemson, Aldridge, help Doc with the wounded.”

She paused. Think. Think. What else do we need to do? Get back in the fight. What about the artillery? “Ahyat, what’s the range on those things? And how often can they fire?”

The keshmin looked at her, still a little shell-shocked, but quickly shook his head clear, nearly dislodging his earmuffs in the process. “About five hundred tails, with reasonable accuracy,” he said, readjusting his earmuffs. “We haven’t seen them shoot much past seven hundred tails.”

Bradford blinked at the unexpected unit of measure. I suppose I can’t complain too much, as well as whatever translating magic has been translating everything else. “How long is a tail?”

Rinn cocked his head at her, his earmuffs wiggling as his ears moved inside of them. He gestured at his own tail, which he flicked in her direction. “About that long.”

After briefly considering subjecting him to the indignity of taking a measuring stick to his tail, she decided to eyeball it. “So, about a meter?” She glanced at Kawalski and Edison. “Ish?”

“Ish,” They agreed.

“Corporal, Medivac’s inbound,” Sampson reported.

“Copy,” she replied as she stepped over to the corner of the up-turned Humvee and looked at the battlefield beyond. The rest of the Marines had continued on to a low rise in the plain, and held there. It wasn’t much of one, but it was the high ground. Four Abrams, four LAV-25s, and twelve surviving Humvees were pouring fire into the elves, along with most of a battalion of Marines.

From what she could see between dips in the rise, the elves were still falling back, consolidating their formations around the story-and-a-half tall, spindly towers that had fired their heavy artillery. The Vipers were still circling overhead, harassing the elves’ flanks, but they were producing some kind of heavy shield over those towers that seemed to be holding against their fire.

As she surveyed the situation, she saw a formation of wizard-types holding a rearguard with a storm of lighter spells. Small-arms spellfire? She thought. They were putting up a tremendous fight, keeping an entire flank of the human line suppressed with their barrage of fire.

Until they disappeared in a hailstorm of light, smoke and dust. The irregular staccato of explosions reached her a fraction of a second later, followed by A-10’s distinctive battlecry.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTT

She looked up to see the two Air Force A-10s banking away from their gun run. When she looked back to the clearing smoke and dust, the formation of wizards was gone. She grinned.

Bradford ducked back behind the Humvee just in time to meet the Stephens and Gomez helping another Marine she didn’t recognize out. Dubois crawled out after him, looking pale. “It’s a mess in there, Jabs. Whatever that was punched through the belly armor and tore everyone up.” He nodded at the dazed Marine. “Franco here only survived because he was in the turret, but he banged his head pretty good in the roll.”

“I’m alright,” Franco insisted, looking a little dazed. “Takes more’n that to get through my thick head.”

Bradford narrowed her eyes in skepticism. “If he can walk a straight line for ten paces and back, find him a weapon and ammo, otherwise he stays with Doc and the other wounded.”

“Aye, Corporal,” Dubois said, and led Franco away.

“Ahyat,” she said, waving him over. “About how many tails away are those tower things, the archmages you said?”

The keshmin stepped over, nodding. “The archmages, in their mana towers. They have other mages and mana crystals channeling energy through the towers for them to use, to generate shields and their heavy artillery, along with other spells.” He swallowed. “They also use prisoners as living mana crystals. They don’t have to be mages or artificers. They just suck the life force right out of a person, leave them as withered husks.”

“Don’t get captured, copy that,” she grimaced. Seeing the hollow look in his eyes, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “About how far away are the towers?”

Rinn shook himself, and had to re-adjust his earmuffs again. “Right.” He leaned around the corner of the Humvee. “About six hundred tails … More like six hundred twenty.” He ducked back behind the Humvee and waggled his wizard stick at her. “Artificers have to be good at estimating ranges, both for our own spells, and to help guide artillery.”

“Yeah, that’s about the distance I figured, between six and seven hundred meters,” Bradford nodded. “How often can they fire? They haven’t hit us with anything after those first three salvos.”

“I don’t know for sure. We haven’t had many victories, and the few we have had, they destroyed their towers before we could capture them, if they didn’t retreat with them.” He considered a moment. “We do know they can only store so much mana at a time, and it takes time to replenish them. They should have fired again by now, though. It doesn’t take them that long to recharge, not with a full army like this, and the only times I’ve seen them not fire their heavy artillery when in range is when … Tahsh,” He snarled. Whatever that epitaph was, it didn’t translate.

He jumped out from behind the Humvee, pointing his wizard stick in the direction of the humans battle line. His eyes glowed silver along with the arcane patterns on his staff as he muttered a few words under his breath. With a sharp tilt of the staff, a wave of energy pulsed out from the end in a cone. Several formations of elves suddenly shimmered into existence between the wrecked Humvee and the rest of the battalion.

“AMBUSH!” Bradford shouted. Little more than a hundred yards separated them from the rest of the advance force sent to bolster the Ganlin army. The elves were smack in the middle. A lotof elves. With a lot of glowing blades.

Rifle shots cracked out around her. “Die, motherfuckers!” Kawalski shouted as he opened up with his SAW.

Bradford ejected the HEDP round chambered in her M203. They’re looking and shooting the wrong way. They won’t hear or see them until it’s too late. “Sampson!” She stowed the round in her dump bag, and pulled out a smoke round. “Priority fire mission! Hostiles in ambush position! On...” She glanced at the color of the round before shoving it into the tube. “RED smoke! Danger Close!”

A flick of the sights to adjust the range. Thwuump. She watched the round arc through the air as she reloaded on reflex. It fell right into the middle of the elves, bouncing off the helmet of one of them, before bursting into a deep red column of smoke. Ha, take that you fucker.

She knelt down and started putting her own rounds down range, careful to keep her aim low enough to not hit the rest of her unit on the other side. She saw a dull flash from Ahyat as Kawalski and the other two SAW gunners in their squad laid down a continuous stream of fire with talking guns.

Whatever hesitation at being caught before they could trigger their ambush the elves had wore off. She heard distant orders being barked, and several formations of elves started moving in their direction, while others headed for the rest of the battalion, and hail of spellfire was hurled their way.

It never reached them. The pulses, like white tracers, raced towards them only to deflect up several yards ahead of them. The angle was shallow, but noticeable, and most importantly, it was enough to deflect all of the shots from the elves a few feat above their heads.

Bradford glanced at Ahyat. He was holding his wizard stick out before him, pointing towards the elves. He had a look of intense concentration on his face, and his eyes and the staff were glowing silver. With a shrug, she made a note to thank him later, and sent an HEDP round down range. Thwuump.

“Corporal! Fire mission confirmed! Danger Close! ETA TWENTY SECONDS!”

“Fire mission, Danger Close! Danger Close! Take Cover!” Bradford shouted, before grabbing Ahyat and pulling him down behind the Humvee with her.

She hit the deck and Ahyat landed on top of her with a yipped, “Oof.” Bradford rolled on top of him. She had body armor with wrap-around Kevlar inserts and ballistic SAPI plates. His armor was made of linen.

The Keshmin artificer had enough time to yup a protest. Then the world exploded.

There were no distinct crackles, pops, or bangs, just a continuous roar. It lasted a bare handful of seconds, but seemed to go on forever.

The roar of destruction paused for a heartbeat, then resumed for another multi-second eternity.

The noise ended just in time for Bradford to hear the blessed sound of angels trumpeting from the sky.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTT.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTT.

“Eat some freedom, motherfuckers! OORAH!”

“Kawalski, you fucking motard! I love you!”

“Ha! Jabs, we can’t see each other anymore! Edison and I are getting married!”

“Kawalski, go fuck yourself.”

“Every day!”

Bradford couldn’t help but laugh as she rolled off of Ahyat, who had renewed his protests at being squished under more than two hundred pounds of marine and kit. “Check to see if there’s any still alive before they walk over and turn us into shish kabob, you fucking dumbass.”

“Nah, they’re all dead, I stayed out and watched.”

“… Kawalski, you are fucking insane.”

“Hey, at least I’m fucking somebody,” he said as he sauntered over, SAW casually propped over his shoulder. “Speaking of which, Shields, that was an awesome trick with the whole magic missile deflection thing, but dude, you really need to get her to buy you dinner first.”

“What is it with you people and buying dinner?!?”

Episode 3

“Medivac’s here!”

Rinn looked up when he heard the thundering whirl of the “Viper Cobras” that had been flying overhead. Coming in low, with a roar and a heavy gust of air, was a fatter contraption, this one with a wide-open bay in the middle. Less than a tail off the ground, it spun sideways to present an open door before setting down with a slight bump. A Marine jumped out and started directing the other Marines as they helped their wounded onto the craft.

The machine was terribly loud and threw a constant wind. This close, Rinn realized that the wind was generated by a set of great blades that spun so fast they were a blur. He stayed right next to Bradford.

When the last of their wounded and dead were loaded on, the surviving squad members stepped back and the Marine who rode the medivac in hopped back on. With a roar and a fresh gust of wind, the contraption lifted off, swung around, and thundered off into the distance.

Bradford continued to watch it go as the tall, ebony-skinned human walked over. “He gonna make it, Doc?”

“He lost a lot of blood, but I think so, Jabs, thanks to you.”

She glanced at him, and Rinn was impressed with how much her expression could communicate without ears.

“His femoral artery was shredded,” Doc continued. “If you hadn’t put that tourniquet on as quickly as you did, he might not have made it.”

“Yeah, but he’ll still need a prosthetic.”

“Maybe. I’ve seen worse amputations get reattached. We’re also maybe twenty minutes flight from three major trauma centers in down-town San Diego. His left leg will probably be a bit shorter for the rest of his life, but they have a good chance of saving it.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Bradford said as he gave her shoulder a reassuring pat and continued on.

Rinn flicked his ears in amazed disbelief. He had seen many similar wounds, and they were often fatal. Even if the soldier survived, he would often succumb to infection. They talk as if infection were not even a concern! And how can they reattach a limb that has been torn completely off?!

Bradford gave a final nod in the direction of the disappearing medivac, then turned to the rest of her squad. “Alright, Marines, let’s get up that hill with the rest of the battalion. Dubois, Stephens, take point. Two Five!”

“RETREAT, HELL!”

“Move out!”

The Marines headed up the hill, falling into a loose formation, weapons up. Rinn stuck to Bradford’s side, his own stave held at the ready.

As they moved into the kill zone, Rinn’s stave slowly dropped to trail at his side. Where half a cohort of elves had stood just moments before was now a gruesome hellscape. The ground was pock-marked with hundreds of little craters. What was left of the elves were scattered in pieces across them, and the grass was slick with blood and offal. Torsos were exploded. Elven plate armor was rent clean through, front and back.

The destruction was both awesome, and terrifying. I wish we had this firepower years ago … And I hope we never have to face it …

They found no survivors.

Half-way up the hill, the elves resumed their artillery fire. Orders were shouted, and the carriages and tanks pulled back behind the peak of the rise. Marines broke out trenching tools, and began digging.

As Bradford and her squad jogged up to the top of the hill, Rinn marveled at their ability to set such a pace while carrying so much weight. Bradford had nearly squished him when she covered him with her own body.

At first, he had been offended by the effort to shield him, but the walk past the obliterated ambush made it quite clear that his armor was no match for these humans’ weapons.

“Nice of your squad to join us, Corporal.”

Rinn turned to find a Marine approaching them who exuded authority. “Oh, shit, it’s the new XO,” he heard someone mutter.

“Sorry about that, Ma’am, we ran into a flat tire.”

Spotting this new Marine, Gomez snapped to attention and started bringing his right arm up, but before he could get it half-way up, Kawalski grabbed his wrist and yanked it down. “Are you trying to get the Major fucking killed? No saluting in a goddamn combat zone, you fucking jackwagon!” He threw Gomez’s wrist down in disgust, while the young Marine’s skin turned pale. “Now go get me more ammo, Lucy’s hungry! And double the load you carry, you goddamn, fucking boot!”

Rinn suddenly found himself glad that he had only just started to bow to this “Major,” who was obviously a noble of some sort, and apparently also a woman.

He is still reeling at women going to war, and now commanding armies, but decided that it is wiser to ignore that for now.

The Major ignored the dressing down as if it hadn’t even happened. “That’s one hell of an understatement, Corporal. You call for that airstrike?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did.”

“Outstanding job, and damn fine quick thinking. If you hadn’t spotted that ambush and called in the ‘hogs, we’d be in a world of hurt right now.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but most of the credit goes to the Second Artificer, here.” She gestured at Rinn. “This is Second Artificer Ahyat. Ahyat, this is Major Winters, our Battalion XO.”

Winters gave him a nod, and he struggled to keep his tail from curling in discomfort.

“Ahyat is the one who realized why the elves had stopped firing their big guns, and it was his magic that neutralized whatever invisibility spell they had going. He also put up some kind of shield to protect the squad while we called in the airstrike. If not for him, we’d all be dead.”

Kawalski apparently felt the need to chime in. “Look what followed us home, mom! Can we keep him?”

Winters ignored Kawalski, again. “Then it sounds like the whole damn battalion owes you their lives, Second Artificer. Damn fine work.”

Rinn flicked his ears down, shuffling awkwardly, and kept his eyes low, unsure of how to respond to this kind of attention.

“He was also able to give us some intel on that artillery, Ma’am,” Bradford continued. “Their maximum range is about seven hundred meters. Max effective is about five hundred, and they can’t move fast while they’re putting up that shield.”

“That matches what we’ve seen,” Winters nodded.

“Rate of fire is uncertain, but they’ve got some kind of high mage type on them, and he channels power from some combination of other mages, mana crystals, or prisoners, ma’am. They use them like living batteries.” Bradford scowled.

“Jesus. They’re just kicking the dog left and right, aren’t they?” Winters asked.

“Say again, ma’am?” Bradford asked.

“Literary reference,” she said, waiving her hand in dismissal. Bradford seemed to understand, but Rinn found the explanation to be insufficient. “Noted on the ranges.”

She paused, looking Rinn up and down. His tail wriggled awkwardly. “Second Artificer, you’re the only keshmin who has advanced with us to the hill. Some of your buddies rallied with us when we joined the fight, but none of them advanced with us. That makes you the senior most member of the Ganlin army present. Until your commanders see fit to provide me with an official replacement, you are now my local advisor.”

Rinn’s ears and tail popped straight up, and he had to adjust the mickey mouses to keep them from falling off. What?!

“Bradford, you’re the liaison, and the rest of your squad is his escort. He’s the only source of intel I have right now, and the only way we have of spotting those bastards if they try to pull their damned invisibility trick again. I don’t want him tripping under a tank tread or walking into a magic ray gun blast.”

“Aye aye, ma’am!”

“Walk with me,” she said, and turned away. Rinn and Bradford exchanged a glance. Bradford shrugged at him, and they quickly followed. “We don’t have the numbers nor the melee capability to push into the main elven force. We’ve got two-five, maybe a company’s worth of tag-alongs we’ve picked up along the way, and two armor platoons. We’ve got reinforcements on the way, but if they swarm us, we’re done. There’s tens of thousands of them down there.”

“Over forty thousand, your grace,” Rinn confirmed. “The elves crossed the river with eight full legions.”

“No need to “your grace” me, Second Artificer,” Winters laughed. “I’m just a kid from Brooklyn. Major or ma’am is fine.”

“Yes … ma’am,” Rinn replied. These humans are so confusing.

“Anyway, that big shield they’ve got is holding up against what we’ve been able to throw at it so far.” They reached the crest of the hill, crouching low, and Winters peaked over the edge to observe and point at the enemy forces. “Those shields don’t move fast, though. Anything that wants to come at us quick has to come out of that shield, where we can light them the fuck up. Otherwise they’re stuck crawling towards us at a snail’s pace.” She turned back to Bradford and Rinn. “The plan is to hold here on this hill. It’s not much, but it is the high ground. We dig in, get hull down, and force them to all turtle up under that shield, and come at us nice and slow.”

“That’s exactly what they’ll do,” Rinn said, shouting over the sound of godhammers and other heavy weapons. “Any time we are able to mass artillery against them, they form under their shield and make a dread march towards us.”

“Excellent! That’s exactly where we want them!” She gestured towards the conspicuously empty skies. A heavy shardblast struck close, and they ducked as dirt rained onto them. “Air support is bingo on munitions, but more is on its way. Eleventh Marine’s managed to get two battalions of em-tripple-sevens and their high-mars battalion trucked through the portal and are nearly set up at FOB Tolkien, and the Air Force has a flight of B1s from the 9th Bomber Squadron en route from Dyess.”

She pointed back at the rallying elven legions. “Once the arty’s set up, they’re going to rain unholy hell down on those bastards, and if that’s not enough to crack their shield and lay them flat, the flyboys will carpet-bomb the ever-living shit out of them.”

As if on cue, the familiar whirling thunder of the Viper Cobras roared overhead, spitting smoke and fire. Explosions and impacts rippled across the elven shields, but they held, unperturbed.

Four of the Viper Cobras circled around the elves while another pair of “hogs” trumpeted their distinctive battlecry, pouring a staccato of death into the shield. Another spellshard thumped into the ground ahead of them, obscuring their vision with a tower of dirt and clod. “Let’s step back from the ridge,” Winters shouted as one of the tanks rolled up and thumped it’s godhammer before rolling back below the hillcrest. “It’s a little quieter!” Another godhammer thumped, spitting fire at the elven legions.

“Aye, ma’am!” Bradford agreed.

As they were turning to leave, Rinn saw a spellshard pulse into the sky and slam into the tail of a Viper Cobra. The explosion obliterated the tail, shattered the big spinning blades, and heaved the shard-riddled main body through the air. What remained of it immediately started spinning and tumbling to the ground. The broken wreck slammed into the ground and exploded in a great fireball.

“Shit!” Winters cursed, sprinting back to her carriage. “MEYERS! To all units! We have a bird down! The Elves have anti-air capabilities! Heavy artillery has maximum range of seven hundred meters! All aircraft maintain a minimum stand-off range of nine-hundred meters!”

“How far away is this FOB Tolkien?” Rinn asked Bradford, as they followed Winters at a slower pace. “And how long will it take your artillery to get here?”

“About twelve kilometers,” Bradford replied. When Rinn gave her a confused look, she added, “Twelve thousand meters, or about twelve thousand tails, and they’re not coming here, they’re setting up at FOB Tolkien.”

Rinn did the math in his head. “That’s six Royal miles!” He looked at her, nonplussed. “What good is all your artillery going to be if it’s six miles awa-“ He stopped as his brain caught up with the implications. “You have artillery that can reach royal six miles away?!?!”

Kawalski laughed. “You bet your ass we do! That’s well inside engagement range. Hell, we’ve got some weapons we can launch on one side of the planet, and hit things on the other side of the planet!”

Bradford frowned. “Let’s hope we don’t have to use those. That means that shit’ll have really hit the fan.”

“But we gotta nuke ‘em from orbit, Jabs,” Kawalski insisted. “It’s the only way to be sure!”

“You are saying words that make no sense!” Rinn flicked his tail and ears in exasperation, and had to readjust the mickey mouses to keep them from being worked off.

“Wait, wait, I got one!” Edison said. “This place has a moon, right?”

Rinn cocked his head at him. “Yes …” What kind of crazy question is that?

“Awesome, so does ours!” Edison grinned. “We’ve been to ours!”

“Now you’re just yanking my tail!”

“Not one bit! We’ve sent people there and back several times!”

Rinn gave the man a skeptical glance. Readjusting his mickey mouses again as they shifted with the movements of his ears, he finally managed to snag the connecting band on his horns in a way that felt much more secure.

Further conversation was interrupted by the sound of a concentrated barrage of small-spell fire pattering into the hill, followed by a Marine shouting, “CORPSMAN!” Rinn jumped as another godhammer thumped further down the line, followed by the steady hammering of whatever the lighter, wheeled “tank” things were.

Two Marines carrying a stretcher ran to the hill crest. They returned a moment later, at a slower pace. The Marine on the stretcher had had most of his face caved in by a shardblast.

“Looks like they’re learning,” Dubois said as another massed barrage struck dirt or flashed overhead, this time concentrated on another point of the Marine’s line.

“Yeah, they still can’t hit for shit at this range, though,” Bradford pointed out. “They’re just massing fire and hoping to get lucky.” She turned to Rinn. “What is their effective range?”

“I haven’t seen them hit individual targets effectively outside of a hundred, hundred fifty tails, though they can volley-fire against formations out to five or six hundred. They all use the same base spell structure, regardless of size, and it collapses at about seven hundred tails.”

“Did you get all that, ma’am?” Bradford asked. Rinn turned around to find Winters standing behind him. It took a lot of willpower to stamp down on his instinct to bow.

“That I did, Corporal,” she said, and they all flinched as a concentrated barrage of heavy shardbursts struck the ground in front of an Abrams. Several flew harmlessly overhead, but over two dozen still impacted the hill, carving out great craters of earth. The godhammer thumped back in defiance.

“Looks like they’ve finally decided to use those long-range earth movers of theirs to try and dig away our cover,” Winters noted. “Been wondering when they were going to get around to trying that.” She smiled. “Good thing the arty’s set up. Follow me.”

“About fucking time, brah,” Stephens said. “What the fuck took them so long?”

“No GPS, no satellite surveillance, not even a goddamn map. Arty’s gotta do this the old-fashioned way.”

This time, Rinn and Bradford fell in behind the Major without hesitation, and she led them back to the ridge. There, they joined two other Marines, with some boxy equipment that contained some form of artifice. “All set, Sergeant?”

“The map’s blank, but we got a grid set up. Ready for ranging shots, Ma’am.”

“You may commence when ready.”

“Aye, ma’am!” He picked up a device and held it to the side of his face. “Doghouse One, this is Firebreak Six. Adjust fire. Grid six-three-two-zero-one-eight. Over.” The sergeant listened to his device. “Doghouse One, this is Firebreak Six. Massed enemy forces under heavy cover. Danger Close. Over.” He paused again. “Romeo, Foxtrot, aich-ee in effect, 1 round out.” Another pause. “Shot, out.” He lowered the device from his face. “First shell’s on its way.”

Rinn waited several seconds for something to happen, but he saw nothing new. He was just about to ask if they had actually fired when the sergeant called, “Five seconds!”

He looked, but saw nothing.

“Overshoot!” called one of the spotters. Rinn looked again, where the spotter was pointing, and saw a puff of smoke and dirt rising in the distance, on the other side of the river the elves were backing against.

“Copy! Doghouse One, this is Firebreak Six. Adjust fire. Direction two-five hundred, drop one thousand, left one-five-zero. Danger Close. Out.”

Several seconds later, Rinn heard a faint whistling sound overhead, and a spray of dirt and smoke was kicked into the air off to the left of the elven formations. A second later, he heard the explosion. It had a much sharper crack than any artillery he had heard.

The elves responded with another concentrated barrage. The ground beneath him shuddered as the heavy shardblasts dug another crater out of the hill, raining dirt and rocks all around the Marines.

“Fucking pop these guys, already!” Rinn heard somebody shout.

He heard the Marine who was talking into his box call out more numbers, and marveled at the communication tool. The mana required to power an artifice like that would be utterly impractical, he thought. But if we had artillery that could reach that far, it might be worthwhile.

Another shrieking whistle, this one much louder, and an explosion tossed dirt into the air almost directly in front of them, less than two hundred tails away.

“Jesus, whose fucking side are they on?” Kawalski asked.

“A little close on that one, Sergeant,” Winters commented.

“Yes, ma’am,” the Sergeant replied, ignoring Kawalski, and spoke more into his device.

“Doghouse One, this is Firebreak Six, adjust fire. Direction two-five-hundred, add five hundred, danger close, out.” Another quarter of a minute later, and something slammed into the elves’ shields. The Sergeant turned to Winters. “We’re sighted in, ma’am.”

“Very well, Sergeant. Saturation fire.”

“Aw, fuck yeah! Make it rain!”

“Aye, ma’am. Doghouse One, this Firebreak Six. Saturation fire from grid six-three-eight-zero-one-one to grid six-three-two-zero-one-eight. Massed troops under cover. Danger close. Fire for effect!” He paused. “All batteries, ache-ee in effect, three-six-zero rounds, dee-pee-aye-see-em in effect, six-zero rounds out.”

Rinn waited another half-minute, and then a whistle trailed overhead, ending in an explosion on the elven shield. Then another. And another. And another. Whistles shrieked constantly overhead, and ripples of explosions began walking across the elven shield, faster than he could count. Interspersed with the barrage that was already a deafening roar were heavy explosions that thumped in his chest even from this far away.

By all the gods above and below … Never before had he seen so much destruction brought to bear. The shields started to waver.

“Ha ha haaa!” Kawalski cried. “One fifty-five mike-mikes of mother fucking FREEDOM delivered at muzzle velocity!”

“Ma’am, Lancer flight inbound, ETA thirty seconds.”

Winters’ response was drowned out by another godhammer thumping anger at the elven legions.

Rinn felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see Bradford pointing in the sky. Six large, bird-shaped things were moving through the sky, but they were much too large and moving much too fast to be birds. The first two banked on motionless wings and flew over the elven legions, spilling dozens of objects as they flew by.

The objects fell slow enough for Rinn to see them, and when they finally struck the shield, a wave of explosions and fire rolled across the shield. The shield stuttered, roiled, then shattered as the next two craft dropped their load overhead. A fresh wave of smoke and fire engulfed the elven legions, throwing debris high in every direction. Rinn was certain that most of it was pieces of bodies.

“Hoohoohooo! Look at the flyboys actually be worth something! Bend over, elfies! We’re going in dry!”

Artillery shells, no longer impeded by the shield, slammed into the elven ranks, and whole formations were wiped out. Three more heavy explosions burst over the elves as the last pair flew overhead.

“The shield’s down, lay it on!” Winters called, waving the Marines up. At her signal, the vehicles all surged to the top of the hill and opened fire.

Stunned by the intensity of the barrage, it took Rinn a moment to realize the number of “tanks” had doubled since the last time he had counted, and there were more of the lighter carriages and Marines. Kawalski whooped, and opened fire with his SAW while the rest of the Marines surged to the top of the hill, dropped down wherever they could find room, and fired. Thunder, fire, and glowing trails of light poured from the Marines’ line, the elven ranks were completely engulfed in smoke, dust, and fire.

“Hey, some of them are getting away!” Edison reported, pointing at several groups of elves that were sprinting across the river.

“What the fuck? Are they walking on water?”

“What kind of jesus spell bullshit is that!”

“CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!” Winters called out, barely heard over the din.

The cannonade slowly tapered off to nothing, followed by the last few artillery shots shrieking across the sky to explode somewhere in the column of smoke that used to be eight legions of the Grand Army of the Elves.

“Ma’am, the flyboys have eyes on the forces that made it across the river. They’re pretty scattered, and it’s hard to say for sure, but it looks like maybe a quarter of their original forces made it across, along with a couple of the magic towers.” The Sergeant paused. “Ma’am, orders from FOB Tolkien. We are to sweep and clear to the river, but not proceed beyond. Flyboys are to enforce the river as a boundary.”

“Send Wilco,” Winters said, and started passing orders through the Sergeant.

Rinn looked out at the column of smoke and dust towering above them. He did not want to go down there, but looking at the Marines all around him, he didn’t see that he had much choice.

“Alright, Marines, sweep and clear to the river. Form up by squads and move as a line with the vehicles. TWO FIVE!”

“RETREAT HELL!”

***

Rinn trudged through the Marine camp, trying to stay out of the way of the bustle of activity. Night had fallen, and many of the Marines had found some place to sleep, but more humans were arriving all the time.

The last several hours since the battle had passed in a blur. They had walked down to the river, searching for threats and survivors. They found none. Rinn shuddered, remembering the carnage and destruction that he had walked through. It didn’t even look like Gahla, he thought. It looked like another world. That notion brought him no comfort.

Once the battle was over, the lord generals had been swift to relieve him of the job of Major Winters’ advisor. Lord General Yangri himself had commended him on his bravery, then quickly sent him back to the lower ranks.

Returning to camp to try and find anyone from his Column or Line, Rinn instead found himself snatched up into several different working parties. He spent several hours working to salvage the Ganlin camp, and assist the humans in setting up theirs.

They’re turning this place into a fortress with earthworks, Rinn noted as he passed another mechanical wonder, growling and rumbling as it filled great bags with earth and rocks scooped from the ground. And at this rate, they’ll have it done literally overnight.

He stopped to ask for directions. The Marine pointed towards a collection of tents and pavilions half-way across their growing compound.

At least I was able to retrieve my own stave from the armory.He double-checked the leather strap that looped around the stave so he could sling it over his shoulder. The lower buckle was worn and was prone to coming undone. And an extra mana crystal.

His stomach rumbled. He had grown used to short rations in the last couple years of the war, but food was particularly scarce in the Royal Host camp tonight. Many of the soldiers who had routed had raided the food stores as they fled. Not that the lords of the Host will go hungry. Their food stockpiles were kept under heavier guard.

Walking past a mound of dirt with strange spikes and fans of metal spires sticking out of it, Rinn took stock of what he had left. One stave, half-expended. One replacement mana crystal. He touched his gambeson. One set of armor, mostly intact. Shirt and trousers. Under-sized boots … He grimaced. Well, they’re a closer fit than the ones I was originally issued, at least.

He patted his belt. One dagger, a mostly-empty coin purse. And one pair of mickey mouses. He sighed. And apparently, I’m all that’s left of Third Line. Does that make me the Line Commander? He chuckled at the absurdity.

Rinn absently patted his gambeson, checking for another pouch, and his ears drooped as he was reminded that he had left it in the crate he used as a personal chest before the battle. And all that was left of the Column’s pavilion was a few scraps of muddy canvas, a broken cot, and a few shattered chests.

Head down, tail all but dragging in the dirt, Rinn continued his lonely trudge, his thoughts drifting down dark paths.

“Shields!”

Rinn perked his ears up, looking around.

“Shields! Where the fuck have you been?” Kawalski waved at him. “Get your furry ass over here!”

Rinn turned towards the tall Marine, his spirits lifting. I found them!

“Man, we’ve been looking all over for you!” Kawalski said, meeting him half-way. He threw a heavy arm over Rinn’s shoulders and casually started dragging him towards a salvaged Royal Host pavilion. He carried a large box under his other arm.

Shouldering the door flap aside, he pulled Rinn in after him. “Hey, guys, look who I found skulking around the front porch!”

“Oh, shit, it’s Shields!” Gomez hopped up from a cot he had been sitting on.

“Shields, man, where’ve you been? We were worried!” Dubois waved at him from another cot, where he had his weapon apart in pieces with a rag, a brush, and something that smelled like oil.

Rinn gaped, both ears swinging forward. It was the first time he had seen any of them without a helmet on. “Your ears are round!”

“Of course not! Did you think we were some knife-eared elfy bastards?” Sampson asked.

“Nah, we’re aliens, brah!” Stephens said. “Aliens from another world, man.”

“Shut the fuck up, Stephens,” Kawalski said as he set the box down on a crate that was being used as a table. “I’m not a goddamn alien. Everything else is the goddamn aliens.”

“What’s in the box, Kawalski?” Miller asked

“What’s in the booox!” Sampson echoed.

“Chow time!” Kawalski declared as he ripped the top open and started passing out tan packages.

“Oh, man, where the fuck did you get these? I thought they were still sorting out getting chow through the portal!” Bradford asked, setting aside her own weapon to reach for a package.

“Co Guns managed to rustle some up. I snagged a box for the squad before the rest of the company scarfed ‘em down.”

“Awesome! But where did Co Guns find them?” Dubois asked

“Ha, First Sergeant asked him that same question!”

“Yeah? What did he say?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to!”

Kawalski tossed a package at Rinn, and gestured at an empty cot next to Bradford. “Have a seat, Shields, and dig in.”

Rinn slowly sat down on the cot and looked at the package in confusion. “Here, let me help,” Bradford laughed. She told him how to tear it open, and explained what the contents were and what to do with them as he pulled them out. “Looks like you lucked out, the beef ravioli is pretty decent.” Rinn wasn’t sure whether he should be confused, amazed, or horrified at what these humans had managed to do to make lasting field rations.

“Oh, fuck yes, tortellini!”

“Chilli maaac!”

“Hey, is there another beef ravioli in there? Toss me one!”

“Hey, is there a veggie burger in there?” Sampson asked.

“Yes, I got you your fucking veggie burger, you sick fuck,” Kawalski, chucking a package at him.

“How the fuck can you stand those things?”

“Man, I just like them, okay?”

“Whatever, more chilli mac for me!”

“Hey, real talk, though,” Dubois said, disassembling his package. “What are we going to call the elves?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the terrorists are Terry, we called the Russians Ivan. The commies in Vietnam were Charlie. The Germans were Gerry. What are we calling the elves?”

“Hmm … It’s gotta be an ee-name, right?” Sampson asked.

“Maybe. The Russians didn’t fit that rule.”

“What about Eli?” Gomez asked.

“Shut the fuck up, boot,” Kawalski snapped. “You don’t get to pick names.”

“What about Eduardo!” Stephens asked.

“You don’t get to pick names, either!”

“Just call them Keeblers,” Bradford said while showing Rinn how to use the “chemical heating pack” in his emaree. What magic is this!?

Everyone looked at her for a moment. “And that’s why Jabs is in charge,” Kawalski said, and they all turned back to their meal.

“Hey, Edison, you gonna come eat?” Gomez asked.

“Yeah, in a minute,” he said, not looking up from the device he was inspecting.

“What’cha workin’ on?” The young Marine asked.

“The GoPro. It took some shrapnel when the Humvee got hit.”

“Whaaaat! The bastards got the GoPro?!?” Sampson asked.

“Yeah, the screen’s busted, and so are the lights. I think it turns on, but I can’t tell.”

“They got the GoPro??” Miller asked. “Oh, we’re gonna fuck ‘em up!”

“What’s so special about a GoPro?” Gomez asked. “That thing looks ancient!”

“Listen here, you goddamn Boot,” Kawalski rounded on Gomez. “That GoPro has more combat time than you have time in service! It’s been passed down through eight generations of Marines, been on twelve deployments, survived three grenades, saved four Marines, and recorded half the fucking combat footage on YouTube. You will show it some goddamn respect, do you understand me, Private?”

“Yes, Lance Corporal!”

“Can you fix it?” Bradford asked.

“Maybe, I dunno, Jabs.” Edison shook his head. “The memory looks intact, so I should be able to pull the footage off, at least, but I think the GoPro’s fought it’s last fight.” He fiddled with the buttons a little more, then reverently set the device down on a crate.

“RIP, GoPro. We’ll burry it with full honors.”

I have so many questions my questions have questions, Rinn thought, as he carefully opened the heated “entrée package.” But above and below, this smells good. He used the spoon to scoop out a steaming bite, and cautiously put it in his mouth. His eyes went wide and his ears perked straight up. This is amazing! It actually tastes like something! He scarfed down the rest of it as fast as he could, and demolished the packaging so he could lick the inside clean.

“I guess our kitty was hungry,” Kawalski laughed.

“He’s not a cat, he’s a fox,” Sampson said. “Look at the nose!”

“Are you kidding? Look at him! He’s a cat! Put him in a box and take a picture, and he’d fit every “Khajit has wares” meme ever made!”

“Poooiinnty nooooose!”

“But what about the horns?” Dubois asked around a mouthful of food. “Is he part goat?”

“I’ll part goat a spell blast up your ass,” Rinn snarled as he worked on tearing open another package with his teeth. Whatever in the five hells a goat is. “I’m sitting right here!”

“Eeey! He’s learning!” Kawalski said, throwing his arms wide. “There’s hope for him, yet!”

“You’re all gods-damned insane!”

“Well, duh! We’re Marines!”

“What do you do, sit around all day eating glue?”

“Yup!”

“Though we prefer crayons,” Edison said, eating his emaree cold.

“Nothing better than munching on a good crayon,” Kawalski added. “What’s your favorite flavor, Jabs? Mine’s purple!”

“Mine’s green!”

“Me, too,” Sampson chimed in.

“I like the blue ones,” Dubois added.

“Eh, I don’t like the blue ones,” Miller shook his head. “They’re too tart.”

Rinn just stared at them. We’ve been saved by chaos demons …

“I think you guys broke him,” Bradford laughed.

“We broke him?” Kawalski feigned insult. “You’re the one who was dragging and shoving and dropping on him all over the battlefield! You’re not even a day into your relationship, and you’re already abusing him!”

“Shut the fuck up, Kawalski.”

“What, did you guys break up already?” Kawalski shrugged. “Maybe we can start seeing each other again. Sampson and I broke up because I don’t like power bottoms.”

Sampson laughed. “You’re the one who keeps trying to win gay chicken with a guy who’s actually gay, and then gets all butthurt when you lose!”

“I’m not butthurt, you’refucking butthurt!”

Rinn decided it was best to just ignore the humans. He pulled his legs up onto the cot and hunched over the latest package he had just opened. It was a dense, brown square, and it smelled delicious.

The humans continued their banter, with Kawalski driving to greater heights of sexual overtones. Rinn ignored them, lost in the sweet gooeyness that was the brown square, until Kawalski shouted for his attention again.

“Hey, Shields! Isn’t there supposed to be camp followers?” Rinn tilted his head and twisted an ear in confusion. “You know, civvies who follow the army around, especially the whore types?”

“Kawalski, we are not having this conversation,” Bradford cut in. “The last thing we need to do right now is start a string of Okinawa incidents.”

“But Jabs, you’re still hung up over your boyfriend, and Sampson and I are too busy fighting over the kids in the divorce, where else am I going to get some tail?”

“Kawalski, if you really want to blow off some steam, go see if any army units have shown up that you can reallocate gear from.”

“… Jabs, you’re fucking brilliant! This is why you’re in charge! C’mon, guys, let’s go, I think I saw some Army trucks rolling in on the other side of the camp.” Kawalski jumped up, grabbing some of his gear, dragging most of the squad along with him thru sheer enthusiasm. Dubois exchanged a glance with Bradford as he finished putting his weapon back together.

She sighed. “Go with them and make sure they don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Aye, Jabs,” he said, setting his weapon down and grabbing some gear.

*****

Kawalski made the rest of the squad wait outside for Dubois to join them.

As the Corporal stepped through the door flap, Gomez spun around. “Oh, shit, I forgo-“

Kawalski grabbed him by the collar, ranked him back, and shoved him into a walk away from the tent. “You’re doing without, Boot. Jabs and Shields are getting their alone time.”

“What?” Edison asked as the posse walked away from the tent.

“Look, Jabs isn’t the fuck-and-forget type, right?” Kawalski explained. “She’s the type who wants something more serious than that. But she’s too straight-laced to fuck anyone in the division, and she’s too career-driven to have enough time to find that outside of the Corps.” He shrugged. “Besides, did you see them? They’re a perfect match!”

“What, are you playing matchmaker now, Kawalski?” Dubois asked.

“Hey, they don’t call me Matt the Maddog Matchmaker for nothing!”

“Nobody calls you that!” Miller laughed.

“They will!” Kawalski insisted. “Now, c’mon, I’m pretty sure they were setting the Patriots up over this way!”

*****

Rinn stared through the door flap after Kawalski in the silence that descended now that he and Bradford were alone.

“Why do you tolerate him and his insubordination?”

Bradford laughed. “Kawalski is a complete, balls-to-the-wall motard. Motivated Retard,” she added when Rinn looked at her in confusion. “He’s committed to the Corps, and a damn good Marine, and he is also one-hundred-percent motivated and dedicated to causing somebodyTrouble, with a capital T.” She shrugged. “If you can point him in the right direction, he will cause all the right sorts of trouble, and drive everyone’s motivation along with him. Letting him give me an extra dose of the same banter and bullshit he gives everyone else makes him think he’s causing me Trouble, gives him an outlet, and he works harder at doing everything else I need him to do.”

She sighed heavily. “Besides, it’s mostly a defense mechanism.” She shrugged at Rinn’s confused flip of his ears. “He was always something of a fuckhead, from what I’ve been told, but he earned two Bronze Stars in Afghanistan. The first was before I reported to the Battalion, and he lost half his squad in that fight.” She shook her head. “He never recovered; it still eats away at him. So he puts on the show, acts even more of a motard asshole than he was, to cover for it.”

Rinn nodded, thinking of the friends and comrades he had lost over the years. He didn’t know how many of his Pike Line were still alive, or if it even still existed. He saw Kehkk’s lacerated corpse, remembered the sight and vivid smell of his friend’s insides that should never have seen the light of day. The faint sizzle as the gemblade casually dragged his blade through his friend’s body. The smell of burning hair and scorched flesh.

“Ah, shit, man, I’m sorry.” Rinn snapped out of the memory at a light touch on his shoulder. He was surprised to see a look of concern on the human’s face, so different, but recognizable. She withdrew her hand. “I didn’t mean to bring up … that …” she rolled her hand in the air as she struggled for words. “Recent memories.”

“It’s okay,” he said, flicking his ears back in an uncomfortable dismissal. “It’s not the first defeat I’ve … participated in.” He grimaced, remembering other friends lost, and more. “Nor … the worst.”

Another touch brought him back to the present, this time it was her hand on top of his. These humans are so … tactile.

“You can talk to me about it, if you need to.” She rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know if it works the same way for keshmin, but for humans, at least, talking about it usually helps.”

“I …” Rinn began, but faltered. “I-“ These things weren’t talked about. To talk about the loss was to accept it. To remember the defeat was to relive it. To make what was lost a reality. He felt a weight press on him, his face, his limbs, some invisible force that wanted to crush him into the ground. He whined.

He tried to move, but he was paralyzed by the crushing weight. “I couldn’t- I-“ His breath caught, his lungs seizing.

He stared at the canvas of the pavilion’s wall, but didn’t see it. He saw the smoke over the trees. The smoldering ruins. He wretched at the stench of burning fur and flesh mixed with blood and offal. “My home is gone,” he whispered, and keened at the admission.

Bradford remained silent, letting him continue in his own time.

“We’d won. We’d beaten them back, made them into retreat. It was a desperate maneuver, and a hard fight, but the Royal Host had shown its strength and forced them to withdraw.” He shook his head, the movement slow and stuttering. “But we were too late.”

“I grew up in the town of Laelae, in the Yintar province.” It was a change of subject, but it was important, and less painful. “It was always something of a backwater, a minor tradestop, surrounded by farms and a lumbermill. My family are only yeomen, but my father always saved some extra coin to have me educated, and when I showed the talent for artificing, the Kingdom paid for additional instruction. We knew the war with the elves was coming; they had broken centuries of isolation, and were expanding aggressively.” He was rambling now, he knew, but found that he couldn’t stop, didn’t dare. “My father passed away the year war was declared. He contracted tallow fever. The town physician did what he could, but there is only so much even the best medical artificers can do.”

Rinn took a breath, remembering his father’s laugh, a stern scolding, his dedication to his craft. A wagon wheel is a wagon wheel, but no matter what you do, always do it well. This pain hurt, but it was old, and it had given him purpose. “With Father gone, we would have struggled to get by, but the war was on. The elves had declared us animals, vermin to be exterminated, and the Host was in desperate need of artificers.” He nodded, his spine straightening. “They guaranteed an allowance that would keep my family fed, and so I signed up. To support my family, and defend my home.”

He looked at Bradford, and was startled at how intensely her eyes seemed to be listening. They’re green! Blue, gray, orange, and brown, yes, but never have I seen green eyes before. She nodded at him to continue, and he did.

“I became an Artificer in the Royal Host. I trained as a Pikeman first. Every member of the Host is a pikeman.”

She exhaled a short laugh through her nose. “Every Marine is a rifleman,” she said with a smile.

“A similar doctrine,” he said, and surprised himself by returning the smile. “That’s when I met Khekk; we had reported at the same time. We quickly became friends, and we managed to stay together in the same Line for the whole war.” He paused as memories of that day slammed into him, and he barely croaked out, “Until today.”

Bradford placed her hand on his again. The sensation of her smooth skin against his fur was bizarre, and an unexpected comfort. He found the strength to continue.

“I was given a stave and trained as an Artificer of War. I’ve never been the greatest artificer in the Kingdom, but I’m still a damn good one. I’m decent enough with elemental pulses and focused mana bursts. I even managed to pick up a bit of the elven shard spelling, but I have a particular knack for the defensive artifices.” He twisted his free hand through the air, as if molding the shape of what he saw in his mind. “I can intuit shield geometries better than most, and I can do it while holding enhancement artifices active on half a Line, and while maintaining a decent offensive output.” He nodded. “I made Second Artificer because I’m good.” He sighed. “But not good enough.”

He stared through the canvas again, his snout twitching with a snarl that wanted to form. Nobody could be good enough. He felt a reassuring squeeze of his hand, and something moving through his fur. He looked down. Bradford was rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. He stared at the motion as he continued. “The war had been on for four years. I had been campaigning for three. The early battles were inconclusive, both of us probing each other, testing each other. But then the elven legions showed up in force. And they pushed. Us. Back.”

He took a shuddering breath. “We were not so unevenly matched, at first, but the Lord Generals have their notions of how battles and wars should be fought, and they did not account for all of what the elves are capable of.” He barely noticed Bradford grimace, his snout twitching into a snarl of his own. “We lost more than we should have, stilllose more than we should, because some high lord in his grand estate has been taught since his mother weened him that battles are fought in particular ways, and nobody dares question it.”

His expression softened; he was too exhausted to stay angry. “Not all of them were so bad. Lord General Kyikn Yangri, the sire of our current Supreme Commander, he understood. He restructured the Host, changed how we engaged the elves, and we started pushing them back.”

The brief flare of light faded from his eyes. “Then we got word of a new Elven offensive. We had just pushed the elves out of what used to be the city of Vashn. They had been there for months, and nothing was left. Not even ruins.” He shuddered. “Every place we pushed them out of was the same. It was as if they were trying to wipe out all trace of our existence.”

Rinn whined. “Yintar was supposed to be different. They had just invaded the province. It wouldn’t be easy, and it was a risk, but we could save the province, drive them out before they wiped more of our nation, our history, from existence.”

He shivered, the heavy weight returning. He looked past the canvas again, and when he continued, he could barely muster more than a monotone. “It was a three-day forced march, but we forced them to the field in the farms outside Laelae. The whole of the Royal Host had come to save little, insignificant, backwater Laelae. It was a hard fight. We were exhausted from the march, and our baggage train had lagged behind, so we were short on mana crystals, arrows, everything. But old Lord General Yangri was a clever bastard, and he caught them in a pincer, forced them in between two rises that prevented them from using their artillery until we were right on top of them, while we rained every single arrow and bolt we had into them. We pushed them right back to the trees, and when the third pincer sprung into their flank, they had no choice but to break and withdraw.”

A ragged breath was all he could force through the paralyzing weight, his voice ragged. “I saw the smoke above the trees. I knew what it meant. We all did. Despite our exhaustion, we all double-timed the last half-mile.” His eyes twitched and his vision blurred. The scent of scorched fur and flesh filled his snout. “It was all ruins. Smoldering rubble, and bodies. The house I grew up in was nothing but a pile of ash.” He whimpered, unable to keep his breathing regular. “Little Maya had grown so much since I had left.” His voice cracked. “Her body was in pieces. Tallin, he had found a sword and tried to fight, but it was cut in two and his head was gone. He was just a boy, and they cut his head off and crushed it.” He keened again, rocking back and forth. “I found Mama in the yard. They burned her alive. I only knew it was her because of the wedding bands on her wrist.”

His whole body shook as he tried to control his breathing. He wiped his hands across his face, his eyes streaming. “I never found Tahla. Half the village was missing. No bodies were found.” He growled. “We knew what had happened to them. They destroyed my home.My family. And I couldn’t stop them!”

His vision blurred, and he could see nothing but the mutilated bodies of his brother and youngest sister, smell the blackened flesh of his mother.

Until a hand on his shoulder brought him back. Only this time, it wasn’t just a light touch. Bradford had moved to his cot next to him, and was wrapping her arms around him, pulling him against her. He resisted at first, it was highly inappropriate and improper. But he just didn’t have the energy to care. He gave in, and clung to her, his whole body shuddering as he just let go.

Rinn didn’t know how long they sat there while he expended his grief. It might have been minutes, it might have been hours. All he knew was that, when it was done, he was exhausted.

With a sigh, he pulled back, a calming catharsis settling over him.. He wanted to stay that way longer, with her rubbing his back in comfort, but he found he had the energy to care about impropriety again. “Thank you,” he said. “I … I don’t know what to say.” His ears flickered awkwardly.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she replied, wiping her own eyes. “I’m a Marine. We’re all supposed to be tough as nails, but … War is Hell, and I don’t know a single one of us who could have gone through that and not broken down at some point. I’ve seen guys kill themselves over a lot less.”

“I almost died that day,” Rinn admitted. “I didn’t care about surviving anymore, and I would have chased after the elves until I found them, and then thrown myself at them until they had killed me. But Khekk found me, stopped me, and promised we’d get them back.” He heaved a sigh. “And now he’s dead, and it’s all on me.”

Bradford shook her head, taking his hand again. “Wrong. You’re not alone. You’ve got us now.” Her voice took on a hard edge. “They pissed off a sleeping giant, and they don’t have a fucking clue about the world of hurt that is about to drop on their heads. Today, we were just getting started. We’re going to make those bastards pay for everything they have done, full price, in blood, and we’re going to make sure that they never do it again, even if we have to nuke them into oblivion. Oorah?”

Rinn snorted, and flicked his ears in her direction. “Oorah.”

“Good!” she clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll make a Marine out of you yet!”

“We’ll see,” he said as they shared a chuckle.

“Well,” she said, stepping away from him and reaching down to pull off her blouse. She held it away from her, looking at the garment in mild disgust. “It’s been a looong fucking day, and I’m beat. I’m gonna hit the sack.”

Rinn sat up straight, his ears and spine going parade-deck rigid, and he forced himself to look elsewhere. The proportions were a little different, but with just her undershirt, it was clear that she had the same shape and anatomy as a keshmin woman.

He had denied, ignored, or just outright put off the question all day, but found himself suddenly unable to ignore it further. “So, uh … You’re a woman?”

“Ha! You just now figuring this out?” She asked, turning to look at him. “Yeah, I’ve got boobs and a vagina, what of it?” She cocked her hips, accentuating the curve of her figure, and glared at him. “You ogling me, foxboy?”

Rinn stuttered and stammered, his eyes going wide as he looked at Bradford, and then immediately looked away. He felt his stomach dropping through his trousers in sheer mortification.

Bradford struggled to keep a straight face, but her mouth twitched, then she snorted, and then doubled over in laughter. “I’m just fucking with you, man, relax!”

Rinn did no such thing, though he was relieved that he hadn’t just gravely insulted her.

“Lemme guess,” she said, sitting down on her cot and grunting as she pulled one of her boots off. “Keshmin women don’t go to war.”

Rinn shook his head, pointedly trying not to look at her, though he feared his ears were giving him away. He made a mental note to amputate the mutinous bastards at a later date.

“Yeah, we used to be the same way,” she said, pulling the other boot off. “Then we realized it was kind of a dumb idea. A waste of half the talent pool of your population.” She stowed the second boot underneath her rack, next to the first one, then began pulling off the socks she wore underneath. “We’re still figuring out a lot of that shit, and we’ve only just started allowing women in combat roles in the last few years, though we’ve had women in the military for decades.” She examined the socks with even more disgust, and hung them up somewhere to dry and air out.

Rinn found himself distracted by her clothing, from the sized-for-her boots, to the socks she wore inside the boot. Even her feet were bizarre.

“Hey,” she said, wriggling her bare toes at him. “My boobs are up here!”

His eyes immediately snapped up, then up again, as his ears flicked down in out in embarrassment.

“Oh, man,” she said, giggling, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t even fair. I'm just poking fun, please, don't take me seriously.”

Rinn looked at Bradford, his ears twirling front to back to front locking onto her as he tried to figure out how to even feel or respond to this whole situation. Why am I so flustered? She's not even a keshmin! She doesn't have any fur!"

“How do you …” Rinn waved at her and gestured around the pavilion.

“Live with a bunch of horny, fuck-ready Marines in a male-dominated career?”

“Yeah, that.” Not what I was actually trying to ask, but that's fine.

“Well,” Bradford sighed. “I’d be lying if I said it was easy. It’s not. But I get by mostly by not being a push-over. I give right back whatever kind of shit they give me, make it clear that I’m not interested in them, and as for propriety …” She shrugged. “There comes a point when you’re just too tired to give a fuck.” She laughed. “Besides, half the regiment’s seen Kawalski’s balls. Seeing each other naked isn’t as big a deal as people make it out to be.”

Rinn nodded slowly, still struggling to wrap his mind around the whole affair.

“A lot to take in for one day, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Rinn agreed. He paused, looking around. “Can I stay here tonight? The rest of my line … I don’t think Third Line exists anymore. My Column’s pavilion is gone. All I have left is what I’m wearing.”

“Of course,” Bradford said. “We were actually trying to find you earlier. I talked to First Sergeant and the Company El-Tee. The higher-ups always like the idea of joint operations, and that shield stuff you can do is pretty fucking awesome, nevermind the whole dispelling the elves’ invisibility bullshit. The brass is on-board with permanently embedding some artificers in our units, and we dibsed you for our squad.”

Rinn had to stop and think for a long moment. If he stayed with the Royal Host, he would just be folded into another Line and sent back into the meat grinder. These humans were alien, and crazy, but they talked of such wonders he had never seen. And they were winning. That is a lot of crazy I would have to deal with, he thought. I hope I don’t become just as crazy. “Okay,” he said. “I’m in.”

“Outstanding!” Bradford said. “Welcome to Second Battalion, Fifth Marines. Retreat, hell!”

“You keep saying that,” he said. “What does it mean?”

“It’s our battalion motto,” Bradford said. “It originated back in the first World War, and yes, we had more than one. My country, the United States of America, joined that war late, and when Marines from two/five arrived in the trenches, a French officer told one of our officers that we should retreat. Our officer replied, “Retreat? Hell, we just got here!” Retreat, Hell has been our motto ever since.”

“Oh,” Rinn said. He snorted. “Rather fitting today.”

“Yeah, I’d thought about that, too,” Bradford nodded. “Any more questions?”

Rinn started to shake his head in the negative, but stopped, his ears twisting in curiosity. “One, actually.”

“Shoot.”

“Why do they call you Jabs?”

“It’s my initials,” she smiled. “My name is Jamie Alice Bradford, so my initials are Jay Ay Bee.” She shrugged. “Far from the worst nickname I could have picked up.”

“I see,” he said, falling into awkward silence.

Until he was nearly bowled off the cot when she chucked a blanket and pillow at him. “Now get some shut-eye. The boys should be back soon, and tomorrow always comes far too early.”

Rinn set the blanket and pillow down on the cot and began doffing his gambeson as Bradford turned out the lights.

*****

Tyriel opened his eyes. The moon had risen high in the sky, but with only a sliver, it shed sparse light.

Slowly, silently, he eased himself out of the mud and muck.

Normally, he would have disparaged being covered in such filth, but tonight it would aide his cause.

Carefully, he crept away from the edge of the field, and the harsh, unnatural light these “humans” were casting upon it.

Slipping into the woods, he turned East. He couldn’t see it, there were trees and a low ridge obstructing his view, but he could feel it. The etherium thrummed in his bones.

Cautiously, with painstaking focus on stealth, he made his way to his target.

A great tear in the very fabric of two realities, rent and torn asunder, and permanently fused together.

The portal.

Episode 3.5 (Prologue)

“Senators and Representatives, I have the distinguished honor of presenting the President of the United States.”

A chamber full of bleary-eyed congressmen and women, aides, reporters, and observers stood and applauded as President Richards walked into the room. The applause was less enthusiastic than it might otherwise have been. The retired Navy officer had managed to navigate a rising tide of partisan hostility by ignoring it entirely, and had the distinction of being the only candidate in his election year to not be despised by any particular group. As such, while he held no camp of feverish support, he had largely been deemed, with some reluctance, as acceptable, even by his opposition.

The lack of enthusiasm was not due to any distaste or displeasure for the Republican President, but rather was due to the hour.

This special joint session of the One Hundred Sixteenth Congress had been called at just past eleven that night, with most of the Senators and Representatives arriving and the session formally starting a little over an hour later.

They would continue to wait for another hour, though that did allow time for most of the remaining Senators and Representatives to arrive. Only those few who had not been near the Capital when the session had been called were not in attendance.

President Richards ascended to the podium on the House floor, motioning for the Speaker to cut the listless applause short. She banged her gavel once as he turned to face the podium, and the applause fell to silence. Two more members of Congress slipped inside the chamber and quietly found seats in the back.

He placed a notepad on the podium before him with a frown. He closed his eyes for a moment with a heavy sigh, but when he opened them, his shoulders were square, his spine was as straight as a steel rod, and his expression was firm. “Mister Vice President, Madam Speaker, Members of the Senate, and the House of Representatives.” He glanced down at his notes, then set them aside.

“It is with great reluctance that I come before you this evening, but I am afraid that I must share with you grave news. Not twelve hours ago we sent a delegation through the San Diego portal to meet with the so-called Aesimnai Empire and discuss peace and neutrality between our two nations. They were directed to ensure the leaders of the Empire that we had no interest in becoming involved in their conflict with the Kingdom of Ganlin, that we bore no ill will to the Elven people, and that we sought only peaceful relations with both of our new neighbors.”

The President glanced at his watch. He looked around the Chamber, at the elected officials before him. “It is with the deepest regret that I must inform you that four hours ago, our delegation was returned to us.” His gray eyes hardened, his expression turning to steel. “The twelve men and women that we had sent as emissaries of peace were returned to us cut into tiny pieces, and packed inside five, elaborately-decorated boxes.”

He paused as a wave of shock rippled through the assembly. The Speaker banged her gavel once more, and he continued once the commotion had died down.

“With those boxes was delivered a message.” He placed his note pad in front of him again, reading from it. “It translates as follows: ‘We do not hold relations with animals. The inferior will be expunged to their proper place, or expunged from existence.’”

President Richards set his note pad aside again as silence reigned in the Chamber. “Senators and Representatives, I must further inform you that less than an hour ago, I was given a report from reconnaissance assets we have sent through the portal. Not only have they confirmed the size and numbers of both armies that we were given by the Ganlin delegation, they have also observed signs of a large Elven force moving to reinforce their existing army, which has begun to mobilize towards the Ganlin army and the portal.”

He looked about the Chamber. “At this time, an army that numbers upwards of forty thousand troops is marching in the direction of San Diego, with tens of thousands more moving to reinforce them. From the Ganlin accounts of their respective capabilities, the nearly fifty thousand Ganlin troops that stand between the elves and the portal will not be able to hold back the reinforced elven army.

“Senators and Representatives, we are faced with an implacable enemy, unlike any we have faced in recent memory. An enemy who has made their desires and intentions unequivocally clear. We have not faced such an assemblage against us since the Korean War. We have not faced such a malevolent enemy since the Second World War. We have not faced such a direct threat to American soil from a foreign adversary since the War of Eighteen Twelve.

“As the Commander-in-Chief of the American military, I have directed every measure be taken to ensure our defense. As we speak, the men and women of our armed forces are moving to defend our soil, to protect our citizens, and to stand against this threat. I have full faith and confidence in the courage, determination, and capability of our armed forces to confront this evil, and to carry us through to victory.”

He paused as a wave of applause rippled through the chamber.

“Make no mistake,” he said when the applause quieted. “It is evil that we face. An evil that threatens not our treasure, nor our livelihoods, but that would see us reduced to animals, or wiped from existence.” He looked around in the silence that once more reigned. “There are few who are alive today who remember, but we have faced such evil before. Those who were called to defend the world against that evil are considered our Greatest Generation. Today, we are called again. A new evil has arisen, and it is now our generation’s turn to stand against it, and to show the unyielding and righteous character of the American People.”

Another wave of applause erupted across the Chamber. There was nothing tepid or lackluster about it this time.

He waited until it had subsided. “I ask that Congress declare that, in light of these unmistakable acts of hostility and aggression, a State of War now exists between the United States and the Elven Empire.”

Applause thundered through the Chamber as he yielded the floor and allowed Congress to carry out its proceedings.

The matter was quickly brought to a vote. It passed the Senate 84-0. When the Roll Call was complete, it passed the House 392-2 with one abstention, and at 01:33 on the 9th of June in the year 2020, the United States of America declared War on the Aesimnai Empire.

End Act I

Episode 4

“Well that escalated quickly …”

“Say again, sir?” Barakis asked.

“We’ve been in-theater, what, a day-and-a-half?” Michaels asked.

“About that long, give or take.”

Michaels nodded. “And I’ve already been relieved by a four-star general.” Michaels nodded at General Langstrom, on the other side of the room.

Barakis snorted. “Are you actually upset about that?”

“Not in the goddamn least.” Michaels inclined his head at the young Ganlin Supreme Commander and the gaggle of lords jockeying for position and influence around him. “The generals can have all the fun of that political clusterfuck all to themselves.”

“Don’t speak too soon, sir, that political clusterfuck is headed this way.”

“Ah, hell …”

“Colonel! Sergeant Major!” Yangri greeted them. He held out a hand, and they shook in the Ganlin way.

Probably some political power-play, Michaels thought.

“The speed at which your forces have constructed this fortification is nothing less than astounding, and what I can see of your world through the portal is incredible!”

“Our Marines are good at what they do, sir.”

“Indeed, they are!” Yangri flicked his ears straight up. “We all saw that first-hand yesterday!” He glanced across the room, filled with row upon row of metal folding chairs facing a projector screen. “Perhaps when we are done here, you could give me a tour? I would love to see more of your world.”

“Probably not, sir. My battalion is one of the few that was able to respond at full strength, and we’re going to be at the front of this thing before the big push even starts.”

“Ah, I see. Your men need you,” He nodded, his ears sagging a little. “Still, I’m saddened that we will no longer be working together. My army owes you and your men their lives.”

“Just doing my job, sir,” Michaels replied.

“His proper form of address is Lord General, Supreme Commander, or your grace,” one of the Ganlin generals snapped. “He is not a mere sir to you.”

“Lord Nahfi, do not be disrespectful, we owe this man more than just our lives, we owe him our kingdom!” Yangri glared at the offended general, his ears twitching flat against his skull for a moment. “”Sir” is a general honorific in the human tongue, applied to all superiors, with no class distinction.” He flicked his ears back in Michaels’ direction with a subtle smile. “Besides, I imagine his exploits will soon have him elevated to a higher status.”

Michaels struggled not to shift awkwardly from foot to foot. Yangri wasn’t wrong, but … “I wouldn’t say that I’ve done anything any other Marine officer wouldn’t have done in my place, sir.”

“Ah, come now, Colonel, our two militaries cannot be that different. Battle and victory bring promotion! With the campaign ahead, surely you and your men will see plenty of both.”

“I’m just a battalion commander, sir, all of this theater-level stuff is a bit above my paygrade.”

Yangri chuckled. “Between you and me, Colonel,” he said with a sly flick of his ear, “I wish it was a bit above mine.”

Michaels cocked an eyebrow.

“My father did, too. There is something more … honest about the battlefield. At least there, you know who wants to put a knife in your back.” He flicked his ear again, and Michaels wasn’t sure if it was just the keshmin version of a wink, or if it was a subtle nod in the direction of one of the “Lord Generals” behind him.

“Alright, everyone, let’s get started,” Langstrom called out, saving Michaels from further discussion.

“Duty calls,” Yangri said, waving at the rows of chairs before them and heading back to the Ganlin side of the room.

“And thank god for that,” Michaels muttered under his breath after the Supreme Commander left.

“Not too loudly, sir, I think their hearing is better than ours.”

Michaels snorted, but held in a smart remark as he took a seat.

The Ganlin leadership took up the front corner of the chairs, but the vast majority of them were filled in by the commanding officers and senior enlisted members of over eighty different battalion-level commands, their regimental equivalents, and the command staffs of First Marine Division, Third Marine Aircraft Wing, and First Marine Logistics Group. Several Army and Air Force unit commanders were also present, along with two Navy Captains. The command staff of I Marine Expeditionary Force took up the half of the first row not occupied by the Ganlin contingent.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Langstrom said, stepping in front of the dark projector screen. “We have a lot of work to do, and not a lot of time to do it in if we want to be able to press our current advantage, so this will be as brief and to the point as we can make it.”

In how many three-hour briefs about nothing have I heard that before?Michaels thought. Langstrom’s reputation is one of being brusque, even for a Marine, so maybe this time it will hold true.

Langstrom gave a nod to someone in the back of the room, and the lights dimmed while the projector turned on. There were some mutterings from the Ganlin contingent. “I’m not going to waste time going over what happened yesterday. Some of you were there, and the rest of you have had enough time to read the briefs. The results speak for themselves. We’re still counting the bodies, but estimates are over thirty thousand dead, with maybe a quarter of their force surviving to retreat. In a nutshell, the Keeblers got their goddamn asses kicked.”

Are you shitting me? Michaels marveled at how quickly words and phrases spread through the ranks. Lance Corporal Kawalski only just started throwing that term around this morning!

Langstrom clicked a remote, and a birds-eye-view image of the fleeing elven forces appeared. The Ganlin contingent muttered and whispered again. “Aerial recon tracked the survivors for about eight kilometers across the river, before they disappeared under heavy forest cover. How much of that force is combat-capable is uncertain, but given the number of fatal sword wounds we’ve found in the elven remains, many of which were self-inflicted, it seems likely they left all their casualties behind.”

He clicked the remote again, and a high-altitude photo of the region surrounding the portal appeared. The keshmin stared intently at the screen. “This is where we lost contact with the surviving enemy forces,” Langstrom continued with another click, popping a colored circle over a region of dense forest. “They were heading in a northly direction, but aerial recon showed no signs of activity, bases, or outposts in that direction for two hundred kilometers.”

Another click and the image changed to a photo much further to the west. “Recon did pick up two large basecamps roughly fifty kilometers to the west, and signs of mass troop movements between there and the river.”

“These camps appear to be lightly defended, and are far larger than is required by the occupying force.” Several clicks cycled through a series of zoomed-in photos showing row upon row of tents and huts in camps occupied by tiny numbers of soldiers. “We expect that these were staging areas, either for the legions that were originally campaigning in this region, the legions that were moved to bolster their attack on the Royal Host, or both.”

Clicking again left the screen dark. “Either way, these are targets. It is uncertain how quickly the surviving forces can move, but by all accounts, from our new allies,” he nodded to the Ganlin corner. “They are primarily restricted to normal marching speeds, and their armies typically only travel twenty kilometers in a day.

“Even if they turned straight for their base camp as soon as we lost them in the forest, and double-timed it back, they’d still have another day of normal travel to go. Worst case scenario, eight hours. The combat engineers won’t have bridges across the river capable of handling our vehicles until this evening, but we can do an air lift to put boots on the ground in those camps with less than thirty minutes flight time.”

Several more murmurs from the Ganlin contingent were joined by a few whispers from the US commanders.

“We’re going to send a battalion of Marines to those camps, take them, capture any intel, equipment, and prisoners we can, and then the Air Force is going to bomb flat anything we can’t carry away. I want unit recommendations on my desk thirty minutes after we’re done here, with wheels up with Marines on board no more than two hours after that.” Several more murmurs followed this, mostly from the U.S. side.

“Care to place odds on it being us, sir?” Barakis whispered.

“I’m not taking that bet, Sergeant Major,” Michaels whispered back.

“That’s the immediate objective. Moving forward to more long-term objectives.” He clicked another slide up, this one showing a recon photo of both Tolkien, which was now a Main Operating Base, and the new FOB Williams alongside the Ganlin camp. MOB Tolkien was rapidly expanding to cover the entire kilometer-and-change width of the portal, and FOB Williams already had notable earthworks.

“Right now, our situation is something of a clusterfuck. Ganlin forces are recovering from near-defeat, and between casualties and half their troops still being scattered to the wind, their combat effectiveness is about fifty percent, with maybe twenty thousand troops capable of combat.

“To be completely frank, our situation isn’t much better. We have roughly four battalions worth of Marines, from eight actual infantry battalions and three different regiments, an assortment of Army Reserve and National Guard companies, elements of three armor battalions, and most of an artillery regiment. Second Battalion, Fifth Marines is the only infantry battalion that actually has their entire command in-theater right now, and that’s only because they were staging for a pre-deployment exercise.”

Langstrom shook his head. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but this is only the eighth day since the portal opened up, and we’ve only been at war for barely thirty-six hours. You all did well with that initial scramble, but we can’t fight a war like that.” He laughed, putting his hands on his hips. “You’d think having the portal less than a half-mile from I-15 would be a supply officer’s wet dream. It’s probably the shortest supply line in history, and Marines in-country can have pizza delivered straight to the states-side perimeter.” He got a few chuckles from the various unit commanders. “But it’s also a goddamn nightmare. We have too much of the things we don’t need, and the things we can’t do without, like replacement ordnance for all that artillery we sent down-range yesterday, are bogged down in rush-hour traffic.”

He shook his head, waving his hand before him to establish a hard line. “Before we can do anything more than lightning raids, we have to get our supply issues sorted, get the Ganlin army back on their feet, and get our own forces consolidated and ready to advance. That’s Phase One.”

He clicked the slide, and the aerial photo was augmented by lines along the river and around FOB Williams, MOB Tolkien, and the portal. “We establish a solid defensive line at the river, much like the Royal Host was doing before we showed up. Expand MOB Tolkien with a proper air strip, set up fire support bases around FOB Williams and along the river, and get the rest of One Marine Expeditionary Force in-theater.”

Several grumbles and yips rippled across the Ganlin contingent. “Is there a problem, Lord General?” Langstrom asked Yangri. Michaels was one hundred percent certain the use of Lord General instead of Supreme Commander was deliberate.

“While we are grateful for your assistance and support, and we would certainly be doomed without you,” he said, glaring at some of the other generals. A Marine acting as interpreter repeated his words for the benefit of everyone who wasn’t in range of the translation spell. “Some of our lords have expressed concerns over the … damage to their estates that have been caused by your construction.”

Langstrom’s expression darkened, but Yangri held up a hand before he could speak. “Their concern is moot,” he continued, speaking more to his own generals than to the Marine General. “Because all of their estates, and the entire Kingdom, was already considered lost. That’s why we created the portal in the first place.”

“You created the portal?” asked Brigadier General Harley, the commander of First Marine Regiment, as a ripple of shock rolled through the room at this revelation.

“Yes, we created the portal,” Yangri nodded. He flicked his ears back in a pained expression. “We knew the Kingdom was lost. Hard as we fought on, defeat was inevitable, and defeat meant extermination. Facing that, we took … desperate action.” He shrugged. “We had theories about creating portals to another world, and recent discoveries had suggested they were more than theories. With the alternative being extinction, we threw half of what was left of our treasury at it, with the hope of making a path to a new world, free of elves, where at least some of us could survive.”

“You made a hail-Mary pass,” someone said.

“I don’t know what that means,” Yangri replied, “But if it is what I suspect, then yes. It was a long shot, but we had no other hope of survival. We took a chance on finding a new world. Instead, we met you.”

“And now you hope to save your homes,” Langstrom said. “I can respect that. We will try to minimize our impact in your territory, but the war comes first. It won’t do a damn bit of good if we save your homes, but manage to lose the war in the process.”

“What if the Keeblers followed you through?” one of the Seventh Marine Regiment staff members asked.

“We had planned to shut the portal behind us.”

“You can shut the portal now?”

“Yes, we retain control over the portal,” Yangri nodded. “Closing it would not be an easy thing to do, and to be honest, from what I understand, being able to close it again is just as theoretical as opening it in the first place.”

“From what you have been told?” General Harley asked again.

“I am not an artificer, myself,” Yangri waved a dismissive hand. “I leave the specific details to them.”

“How energetic of an event would that be?” Langstrom asked.

“From what I’m told, about as energetic as opening the portal in the first place.”

Whispers roiled through the room as this new revelation was discussed.

“Freeway pile-ups caused by rubber-neckers produced more overall damage than the portal did, sir,” Barakis muttered.

“So did the perimeter we cleared,” Michaels added. “The Eminent Domain lawsuits from that will be raging for decades.”

“Suffice it to say,” Yangri added quickly, “We have every interest in maintaining it open now, and should we win the war, some have already expressed hope at the possibility of trade through the portal.”

“A discussion for another time,” Langstrom noted. “Either way, it doesn’t change where we’re at now. We’ve still got a war to win. Moving on.”

He clicked the slide again, bringing up a scanned map of the Kingdom of Ganlin and surrounding territories, overlaid in a few places with high-altitude photos sized to scale. “Phase Two. While we’re all working on getting our shit in a sock, we’ll focus on scouting and recon. Identify enemy troop dispositions and deployments, potential targets, and what Ganlin infrastructure is still intact. We’ll keep the enemy on their heels with air strikes and lightning raids with air-lifted infantry and hardware.”

Another click of the slide and the screen was replaced with an advancing arc on the other side of the river, and deep prongs jutting far past the main line. “Phase Three. Once we’ve managed to put all our shit in the same sock, we’re going to surge on the offensive. It’ll be a two-prong affair. The main line of allied-controlled territory will be pushed by the Ganlin Royal Host, bolstered by U.S. Army and Reserve units. The Royal Host’ve got the man-power in-country to control a lot of territory. They’re not mechanized, so rate of advance will be slow, but for maintaining control of territory, that’s fine for now.”

The next slide shifted to focus on the prongs. “The second prong of the offensive will be deep strikes behind enemy lines. Using mechanized and aerial assets, we’ll deploy forces deep past the main line of advance, where they will set up FOBs, and corridors of advance that can be used to encircle any elven forces, and rapidly advance the main line. This will also serve the purpose of building strings of FOBs to facilitate and secure lines of supply, and provide fortified points to fall back to should the Keeblers surge back with something unexpected. All operations will be supported by heavy air cover.”

A click of the screen, and the prongs and line were replaced with a star at the portal and a deep cone of blue radiating out from it, and with the Ganlin border outlined in blue. “The primary objective of this operation is to establish substantial depth-of-field protection between the Elven and Allied lines and the portal. Secondary objectives are to identify elven strongholds, lines of supply, tactical and strategic assets, and neutralize them. Ultimately the goal is to push the Keeblers out of the Kingdom of Ganlin entirely. After that operation is complete, we take the fight to the Keebler homefront, and keep on pushing until the bastards give up, or they’ve got nothing left to fight with.”

The screen went dark with another click of the remote. “That’s our grand strategy. Operation Bulldog. The specific details are going to be up to you and your unit commanders; you all know your jobs, and I’m not going to do them for you. I do want no-bullshit reports from each of you by the end of the day, on what your units need to be ready for Phase Three, what you don’t have, and when you expect to get it.”

He turned to the Ganlin contingent, his tone a little less commanding. “Lord General, if you can get me a list of what your troops need, be it food, medical supplies, boots for their feet, whatever it is, I will do my best to ensure you get whatever materials you need to get the Royal Host combat-ready again. In return, I’m going to need maps, and whatever intel on the elves, their tactics, capabilities, and dispositions you might have.”

Yangri gave Langstrom a small but gracious bow. “I will ensure you have that report by sundown, General.” Some of his companions yipped and tittered their grumbles, but a flick of an ear and his tail silenced them.

“Outstanding.” Langstrom gave him a firm nod. “Now,” he continued, stepping away from the projector, “I give the floor over to Lieutenant Commander Rice from the Office of Naval Intelligence. Commander Rice will brief you on current known capabilities and potential threats demonstrated by elven forces. Commander Rice, the floor is yours.” Passing her the remote, Langstrom took a seat.

“Thank you, sir,” a short woman with auburn hair and deep, brown eyes said as she rose from her own seat. Mutters rippled through the Ganlin contingent as she stepped in front of the darkened projector. “Ladies and gentlemen, before I begin, I must emphasize how important it is to not underestimate our new enemy. Though their primary weapons and tactics were rendered obsolete centuries ago in our world, they have employed weapons systems and technologies that, if not on-par with our own, give them at least near-peer capabilities in several areas. They have also demonstrated technologies and capabilities for which we have no equivalent, and possibly no direct counter.

“Most importantly, they have demonstrated the ability to adapt their tactics under fire, and they no doubt willadapt and attempt to compete with our own technological capabilities. It is the estimation of myself and my colleagues that we hold a distinct and decisive technological advantage now, but we also cannot rely on retaining that advantage.”

She clicked the remote, and an aerial photo of the previous day’s battle was displayed, showing the elven cohorts and legions in regimented ranks. “The primary infantry weapons employed by the enemy are of three types. Their primary ranged weapons are called “Mage Staffs,” wielded by “Mages.” These staffs are capable of projecting a variety of concentrated energy blasts, with varying effects.”

Michaels took notes as he listened, but while Commander Rice’s presentation was as detailed and cogent as he could have hoped for under the circumstances, it was also incredibly dry. Having attended many similar intelligence briefings, Michaels was able to maintain at least the appearance of alert interest, but he noticed several of the keshmin lords struggling to stay awake. A few had even completely nodded off.

Rice seemed to be well aware of how dry her presentations could be, however, and as she moved on to talk about the elven artillery, the very first slide was a video from a Cobra’s gun camera, complete with audio. The video started with the staccato rattle of the Cobra’s chin gun, startling the Ganlin contingent awake.

Somebody took the time to set up subwoofers just for this, Michaels thought, chuckling to himself.

“Good hits, good hits,” one of the pilots said as the burst of gunfire exploded across an elven formation.

“Switching to rockets, let’s set up for a pass,” said the other pilot.

“Copy. Same target, that format- Holy shit! Did you see that?”

A flash of light had thrown a towering column of dirt and debris high into the air.

“Yeah, I saw it. Big Dog, this is Yankee One-Three, hostiles have artillery.”

Several more flashes threw more columns of dirt into the air. One struck an Abrams, knocking armor off its glacis, and two took out Humvees. The video froze.

“Produced by the same towers that provide them with their heavy shields produce a heavy explosion and smaller, fragmenting shards of energy upon impact. They are more than sufficient to neutralize up-armored Humvees and LAVs, but not sufficient to penetrate the frontal armor of an Abrams. The energy released appears to be roughlyequivalent to five to ten kilograms of TNT, but it’s not quite the same. Elven artillery produces a much lower velocity explosion, somewhere on the order of fifteen hundred to two thousand meters per second, while TNT detonates at nearly seven thousand meters per second.”

The next slide featured an image of a heavy shardblast explosion next to the familiar detonation of a 155mm HE round. The HE round produced a column of smoke and dust, while the shardblast lifted much more clumps and clods of dirt. “The shardblast has a much lower lethal radius from detonation than a comparable artillery shell, but the shards produced appear to dissipate at sixty to seventy meters, and have significant penetrative ability on their own.”

She clicked the remote again and brought up another aerial photo of the battle, this one from higher and further away. The photo had several craters circled. “Their primary limitations are being direct line-of-sight weapons, and their range. Maximum effective range is about five hundred to five hundred fifty meters, while maximum range caps at seven hundred to seven-fifty meters, where the energy blast dissipates into nothing.”

She clicked the slide again, blacking out the screen. “Close range engagements against Elven artillery puts them at near-peer levels of capability, but longer-range engagements leave them unable to respond. How long this will remain the case is unknown, but for now, every effort should be made to neutralize elven artillery at long range, before closing to more conventional engagement ranges.”

No shit, Michaels thought. He wanted to roll his eyes, but … Sometimes, people need the obvious pointed out to them. Rather it be here in a brief than on the battlefield at muzzle velocity.

Rice wrapped up her briefing by highlighting the elves adaption of their existing weapons systems in the midst of the battle to remind the officers and senior enlisted before her to not take their advantages for granted, and to be wary of Elven efforts to adapt, in addition to the existing out-of-context problems, like straight-up invisibility.

“Thank you, Commander,” Langstrom said as she took her seat. “Alright, everyone, you have your marching orders, you all know your jobs. I want readiness reports on my desk by the end of the day, and unit recommendations for our first strike in the next half-hour. Let’s get the job done. Dismissed.”

“Any word on what the keshmin capabilities are?” asked Lieutenant Colonel Mayhew, the CO of 3rd Battlion, 5th Marines.

“They’re supposed to be setting up a tech demo for us tomorrow afternoon,” Michaels replied. “But they haven’t been very clear on what all they’ll be demonstrating.”

“They’re probably as wary of us as we are of them,” Barakis said. “Can’t say I blame them.”

“Well, we’re going to need them to pull their weight, if these elves prove to be a bigger problem than they were yesterday,” said Colonel Anders, the CO of 5th Marines. “Russia and China are already chomping at the bit over the portal, and demanding access. If things heat up over this on the home front, we might have to pull out and leave Ganlin to do all the heavy lifting.”

“Let’s hope we can avoid thatparticular clusterfuck,” Michaels grumbled.

“Yeah,” Anders agreed. “In the meantime, Henry, you have more immediate concerns.”

“The strike on the elven basecamps.”

“Yep. Two/Five’s the only battalion-strength unit we have in the field right now. I don’t really have anyone else to send. Plus, your boys are among the few who have recent combat experience against these bastards.”

“I know,” Michaels sighed.

“Rally your men. You’ve got two hours. Semper Fi.” Anders patted Michaels on the shoulder before walking off with Mayhew, discussing what he needed to finish moving his battalion in-theater.

“Well, Sergeant Major, you heard the man.”

“Retreat, Hell, sir,” Barakis said by way of confirmation.

Episode 5

It was early.

Bradford lay on her rack, wishing she could go back to sleep, and knowing she wouldn’t be able to.

It wasn’t the sound of orders, shouts, and banter that could be heard from around the camp that was keeping her up. Nor was it the sound of vehicles, construction, or aircraft rumbling overhead. She had grown up on military bases, these were familiar sounds to her.

Neither was it the cot she had slept on. Somebody in the supply chain had thought ahead to all the troops that would be moving in around the portal. Thousands of them, along with blankets and pillows, had been shipped to the stateside perimeter, and in the chaos of the initial surge they had been given higher priority than some of the trucks carrying MREs and other rations. She had slept on far worse camping with family.

Bradford sighed, relenting to the inevitable. Wiping the gunk out of her eyes, she pushed herself up to sit in her rack. The simple fact was that she always, always, always had trouble staying asleep in new places. Humvee on the move? Fine. Middle of nowhere? Fine. Rock for a pillow? Fine. Comfy rack in new place? Not fine.

She slept soundly enough, but if she slept anywhere unfamiliar, something in the back of her brain forced her to unrelenting wakefulness as soon as the sun was up. Regardless of how late she actually went to sleep, and regardless of timezone. Regardless of planet, too, apparently …

Twisting to her right, she grabbed the edge of her cot and pulled, twisting and popping the kinks out of her back. With a pained-but-satisfied sigh, she released the cot and twisted to stretch in the opposite direction. Doing so brought Rinn into view, and she noticed that the keshmin was also awake, lying on his cot. She grabbed the far end of the cot with her left hand and pulled again, eliciting another painfully satisfying series of pops and the sigh of pained ecstasy of those who were too young to be too old for this shit.

She also noticed that Rinn very pointedly turned to not look at her while she stretched, sending a million-yard “not looking, not looking” stare straight through the canvas overhead.

Releasing the cot again, she allowed herself a brief smile at his bashful modesty. It was refreshing, compared to what she was used to dealing with, and utterly adorable. Especially when you add his ears. Those tufts make him look like a long-nosed lynx, or a caracal. They’re so fuzzy, I just want to … Nope, no, not thinking about it. Totally unprofessional. Not appropriate.

“Trouble sleeping, too?” she asked, instead.

“Yeah,” Rinn said, pushing himself up to sit, as well. His ears flickered as a helo rumbled in the near distance. “Strange noises,” he added. His nose twitched. “Strange smells.”

“Are you saying we stink, foxboy?” Bradford couldn’t pass up the opportunity for a jab. There was a reason why her initials had become her nickname.

“Yes. No! I mean!” His ears flicked hard back against his skull, his eyes going wide.

“Relax,” she said waving a hand to calm him down. “I’m just poking fun. Besides,” she waved a hand at her undershirt. “We’ve all been sweating inside the same clothes and body armor for the last day-and-a-half without even a field shower. War stinks. Literally.”

“Yeah,” Rinn snorted as Bradford threw her blanket off and swung her feet off the rack, twisting and stretching a little more to work out the last kinks. “I don’t even remember the last time I felt clean.”

“Speaking of getting clean,” Bradford pulled her pack out from under her cot and dug out a pack of baby wipes. “Here, try one of these,” she said, pulling a wipe out and tossing the pack at him.

He caught the pack after it bounced off his chest.

“What are these?” he asked, giving it the same confused head-tilt trademarked by the pitbull she had as a kid.

“They’re called baby wipes,” she said, demonstrating their use by wiping her hands, then reaching up her sleeves to wipe her armpits. “They were originally invented to clean babies, hence the name, but they work great for cleaning adults, too. We use them for field showers.”

Eying the pack of wipes, Rinn pulled off his blanket and swung his feet to the ground. Tugging a wipe free, he gave it a sniff. With a waggle of his ears and shrug of his shoulders, he reached under his tunic and began cleaning himself.

“They’re not perfect, but they help,” Bradford continued, moving down to her feet to clean the grime and cheese from between her toes. She would normally use a second wipe to clean under her breasts and between her legs, and didn’t really give much of a fuck about doing that in front of the rest of her squad. But that might be a bit too much for our little keshmin’s sense of modesty, today.

That was when she noticed his feet. “Dude,” she said, pointing at the blisters and patches where his fur had been rubbed completely away. “How do you walk?!”

“What?” he said, looking down at his own feet as he self-consciously pulled them away from her. “Oh.” He shrugged. “The last pair of boots I could get didn’t fit me well. The ones I have now fit me better.”

Bradford looked at the boots in question. “Bro,” she said, giving them a firm knifehand. “What are those??!”

“Standard pattern boots,” Rinn said as Bradford picked one up to inspect it. She could feel the sarcasm. “The boots I was issued when I joined the Royal Host were good quality, but they’re … not made as well as they used to.” His ears drooped flat and waggled forward and back a couple times before rolling back up.

She picked up the other one and compared the two. “They don’t even match!”

“I know,” Rinn said. “I got them from … Someone who didn’t need them anymore. I don’t think they were originally a pair.”

Bradford glared at the offending footwear for a moment, before dropping them on the deck. “Let me see your feet.”

“What?”

“Hold a foot up, let me see it.”

“Oh …kay …” Rinn said, slowly lifting a foot for her to inspect, one ear twisting towards her but held straight out to the side.

Bradford shifted on her cot to sit directly opposite him and held up her own foot. She pressed the two together, comparing the shape. He had pads on the heel and balls of his foot, and short claw-like nails that reminded her of a dog’s foot, though they were trimmed short. Minus the pads, and blisters and patches of bare skin, his foot was covered in the same ebony fur as the rest of his body.

“Meh, seems close enough," she said.

“Playing footsies, Jabs?” Kawalski said.

Bradford and Rinn both jumped, dropping their feet. Neither of them had noticed him approach.

“Shut the fuck up, Kawalski!”

“Hey, I’m no judge,” he held his hands up. “Foot fetishes are pretty tame compared to some of the shit I’ve played around with.”

“What do you want, Kawalski?”

“Just letting you know I’m taking Gomer and Stephens to collect the, ah, equipment we reallocated last night. We stuck them in some boxes and I had one of the guys in Foxtrot who owes me a favor launder them around the FOB overnight, to avoid suspicion.”

“Kawalski, you know how Co Guns often tells First Sergeant to not ask questions he doesn’t want to know the answer to?”

“Yeah,” Kawalski said with a fond smile.

“That was the kind of answer I didn’t want to know.”

“Ah, right,” Kawalski said. “Well, anyway, I’m taking Gomer and Scuba Steve to go dig a latrine for me to shit in.”

“Very well.”

Bradford sighed as the lanky Marine spun around and marched off, scrubbing an eyeball with her hand. “Gomer! Scuba Steve! Grab your shovels, I need to take my morning shit!”

“Moving right along …” She shook her head. “Let’s get dressed and get some chow, then I’ll take you to see the platoon LT and meet Staff Sergeant Rickles, and see if we can get you some gear from supply.

An hour later, they were walking out of the chow hall, and Bradford was re-slinging her rifle over her shoulder. Normally, the whole squad would have eaten together, but the rapidly-expanding FOB was such a chaos of activity that the cooks were running a constant chow line for anyone coming through for food. Not that they were actually cooking anything yet.

“I have never seen anyone enjoy an MRE as much as you have,” Bradford said, shaking her head at Rinn.

“How can you not?” he asked back. “They have so much flavor!”

“Compared to what? Old leather and hard tac?”

“That sounds like standard field rations to me, except we were lucky to have the old leather.”

“Jesus, no wonder you guys were losing.” Bradford held up a hand to stop Rinn from walking into the street as a Humvee drove past, followed by a trackhoe and a light dozer. Rinn stared at all of them as they passed, his ears erect and facing straight ahead. “Didn’t anyone teach your generals that an army marches on its stomach?”

“Ha,” Rinn said, flickering his ears. “That’s a true statement.” He shrugged as they continued. “Food was never good, but it used to be better. The last couple years, though …” He shook his head.

Bradford was saved from coming up with a response by their arrival at the Company Headquarters tent. If by “tent” you mean a pair of Humvees backed up to each other with camo netting strung between them.

“Bromley said the LT was in here,” Bradford said as Rinn appraised the arrangement with a shrug of his ears. She led the way around the front of a Humvee, to the entrance side of the makeshift tent.

“Ah, Bradford, there you are.”

“Sir,” Bradford said, stepping under the netting, Rinn on her heels. “This is Second Artificer Rinn Ahyat, the Ganlin soldier I was telling you about.” She gestured at the Lieutenant, sitting behind a folding table. “Second Artficer, this is our Platoon Leader, First Lieutenant Meyers.”

“Sir!” Rinn said, snapping to attention and giving the Lieutenant a crisp bow.

“As you were, Second Artificer. We’re still in a combat zone. Saluting, or bowing, is not required.” Meyers was short for a Marine, barely five-foot-seven. He was shorter than Rinn, who was about five-eight if you didn’t count his ears or horns. At five-nine-and-a-quarter, Bradford practically felt like a giant next to him while he was seated.

“As you say, Sir,” Rinn acknowledged, relaxing his stance. “But, if I may ask, why is that a practice among Marines?”

“Snipers,” Meyers replied.

Rinn tilted his head, his ears flicking in what Bradford recognized as his “I’m confused by not sure if I can ask” waggle. “Snipers are infantry with high-powered rifles and optics that can hit precise targets hundreds or thousands of meters away," she said. "Saluting officers paints them as command targets to any snipers who might be concealed in the area. That’s why it’s standard practice in modern Earth militaries to not salute in a combat zone, same with the rank tabs on our helmets,” she said, tapping her boonie.

“The keeblers didn’t demonstrate any capabilities that could compare," Meyers smiled, "But I’d rather not be painted as a target in the off chance they do.”

“Ah,” Rinn said, his ears flicking back for a moment. “I see.”

Damn those things are expressive. I’d bet money that he doesn’t know how to feel about snipers being a thing, but I really need to figure out how to read his ears.

Rinn’s ears flicked towards Bradford, and then faced Meyers. “A sharp change of subject, sir, but, again if I may ask, what is the significance of your rank, compared to Corporal Bradford’s?” His ears flicked to face down and behind him. “I mean, I gather that you are an officer and she is not, and that the difference is akin to the difference between common armsmen and our Lord Commanders and Lord Generals, but it is clearly not the same.”

“The original, historical distinction between officers and enlisted was pretty much the same on our world as it is on yours,” Meyers said, “With the enlisted ranks being comprised of common peasants and yeomen, and the officers being comprised of the landed nobility.” Meyers shook his head. “But that’s not the case anymore. Most modern nations in our world don’t even have hereditary nobility anymore, and most that do are strictly ceremonial.”

“The United States of America was founded nearly two and a half centuries ago when the original thirteen British colonies in America declared our independence and revolted against King George,” Bradford added.

“You don’t have any lords or nobility at all? No King?”

“Not a one, and good riddance,” Bradford confirmed with a nod.

“The practice of distinguishing officers from enlisted carried over from older military traditions,” Meyers continued, “But instead of lineage or nobility, the distinction was set on education. Modern officers have to have a bachelor’s degree, either by graduating one of our military academies, or earning their degree at another university and going through Officer Candidate School, or OCS.” Meyers waved at Bradford. “Education requirements for regular enlisted are minimal.”

“You think you’re cool because you can read, sir?” Bradford glared at the Lieutenant.

Rinn looked at her, his ears drooping in dismay. “You can’t read?”

“I’m a Marine,” Bradford threw her chest back in pride. “I eat crayons and drink glue.”

“Don’t let her fool you, Second Artificer,” Meyers laughed. “Bradford here is using her Tuition Assistance to get a degree in aerospace engineering.”

“Don’t you go starting any dirty rumors, sir.”

“UC San Diego, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How far are you into your degree?”

“About half-way, sir.”

“What is “aerospace”?”

Bradford laughed. “That … is something that I’ll explain later.”

“Probably a good idea,” Meyers chuckled. “Anyway. Did you discuss your proposal with the Second Artificer?”

“I did, sir, and he’s on board, one hundred percent.”

“What about your chain of command, Second Artificer? What do they have to say about this?”

“I don’t have a chain of command anymore, Sir.” Rinn kept his back rigid, but his ears drooped. “So far as I can tell, everyone else in my entire Line has been wiped out.”

“I see,” Meyers said. “Well, then,” he glanced around the table and picked up a folder. “I have here a message authorizing the embedment of a Ganlin artificer into my platoon, and another message relaying the authorization from the Ganlin Supreme Commander himself. I don’t think you have anyone higher than that who can override him.”

“None but the King, Sir.”

“Very well. Welcome to First Platoon, Echo Company.” Meyers flipped the folder open and jotted down a few hand-written notes before signing a piece of paper. “You are officially embedded in Bradford’s squad, and fall under her command.” He flipped through a few pages in the folder, pulled out another sheet, and signed it before handing it to Bradford. “Here’s authorization to get him gear issued from Supply.” He glanced Rinn up and down. “The mad scramble of the last few days has seen a lot of stuff shipped out that we really didn’t need right away, but that the Second Artificer here could use. See that you get him properly equipped, and get him a uniform.”

“Aye, sir!”

“Speaking of uniforms, Sergeant,” Meyers said, picking up another folder off his shared makeshift desk. “You’re out of uniform.”

“Say again, sir?” What does he mean I’m out of … what?!

“You made the cut this month,” he said, handing her an embossed folder. “It’s a little late, actually. It would have been awarded two days ago, but, well …” he waved around them. “Congratulations.” Rinn’s ears perked up, but he stayed quiet.

“Thank you, sir …” Bradford opened the folder to reveal a certificate of promotion, dated for the 12th of June.

“You’ve been eligible for Sergeant for, what, the last two quarters?”

“Yes, sir,” Bradford said, glancing over the certificate, running the time-honored words through her mind.

“How long have you been in, now, Sergeant?”

“I, um …” She glanced at her watch out of habit, not actually reading the date. “Three years and four months on the first, sir.”

“Not bad, Sergeant. Keep up the good work.” He stood, offering her a hand, and she shook it.

“Thank you, sir.”

“That’ll have to do for ceremony,” he said, handing her a small stack of folders. “Same with these.”

“Sir?”

“Promotions for the rest of your squad, Sergeant. You’re not the only one who made the cut this month.”

“Understand, sir.”

“And they’re your squad, Sergeant. The docs at UC San Diego were able to save his leg, but Gutierrez’s going to be convalescent for a long while. That leaves you. The good news is you’re getting Kimber back. Docs stitched him up, said he’s good to go so long as he’s careful with his arm for a few days.”

“Well, it was his left arm that was hit, he should be fine.”

“Right,” Meyers chuckled.

“The bad news, sir?” There's always bad news...

“Davies is back from convalescence,” Meyers deadpanned.

“Fuck." She grimaced. "Are you sure you can’t dump him on another squad, sir?”

“No-can-do, Sergeant. There’s a war on. We need every Marine we can get, and your squad’s taken three losses as it is. I know you don’t want to have to deal with him, but he’s your problem, now. Maybe you can figure something out with him that Gutierrez couldn’t.”

“Aye, sir,” Bradford said with a heavy sigh. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“Just see that you correct your uniform while you’re at Supply.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Very well. Sorry to rain on your parade, Sergeant. Dismissed.”

“Aye, sir!” Bradford braced at attention then turned to depart, nodding her head at Rinn to follow.

Outside the tent, Bradford turned left and started marching down the road. “C’mon, Supply’s this way.”

“Congratulations,” Rinn said, struggling to keep up without breaking into a jog.

“Yeah, thanks,” Bradford said, glancing down at the first folder in the stack she was carrying.

“Who is this Davies?” Rinn frowned, his right ear swiveling on the alert, but his left ear locked solid on her. “Why does him coming back make you so angry?”

“I’m not angry,” Bradford growled.

Rinn flicked his tail against her elbow. “You humans can be hard to read, but you’re not that hard to read.”

“Fuck. Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

Bradford sighed. “Davies is a Blue Falcon.”

Rinn gave her his “You’re using words I don’t understand” side-eye.

“It’s a code-word for Buddy Fucker. He’s a holier-than-thou prick who thinks his shit doesn’t stink. He’ll undercut and double-cross you, snitch on anyone he catches breaking regs, but thinks he can get away with bending the rules, and he spends more time broke-dick than actually being useful!” Bradford found herself knife-handing the air in front of her, and decided she needed to reign it in a little.

“We also go way back. We went to Infantry School together, reported on the same day, and have been assigned together ever since. He’s been a cockhead for as long as I’ve known him, but he thinks we've got some kind of special friendship because we've known each other for so long.” She checked her rising knife-hand and clenched her fist, instead. “The lazy bastard even managed to make Corporal the same month I did.”

“But now you out-rank him,” Rinn raised his eyebrows at her, the tips of his ears flicking in towards each other.

“Yeah, now I’m his Sergeant, and I own his ass.” She growled. “And he’ll probably try to fuck me over, somehow, because of that.” She glanced at Rinn. “I’m not sure how he’ll take you, but watch out for him. He’ll come at you all smiles and friendship, buddy-buddy-like, but it’s all a show. There isn’t anyone who’s known him for more than a couple weeks who hasn’t been fucked over by him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rinn said, rolling his ears.

“On a happier note, we’re here.” She gave him an ironic smile. “Let’s go shopping!”

She flipped open the door flap of a long, beige tent and led the way inside. “Morning Jackson!” she said to the Corporal standing at a folding table inside the door, sorting through what looked like stacks of receipt forms. Crates, boxes, and bags were stacked on top of each other or temporary shelving in several neat rows through the tent. On the far end, a section of the wall had been rolled up and other Marines had formed a daisy chain, offloading more crates and boxes from the back of a truck.

“Mornin’, Jabs,” he said without looking up. “What can I do for you?” He absently scratched at his mustache with one hand as he sorted the papers into neat stacks.

“Got a signed slip from the LT, need to outfit an embedded foreign asset.” She handed him the sheet of paper Meyers had signed earlier.

“What, did the Brits send an intel weenie or somethi- oh, shit!” he said, finally looking up and seeing Rinn as he took the paper.

“Corporal Jackson, this is Second Artificer Ahyat. Ahyat, this is Corporal Jackson, one of the H&S Company POGs.”

“What’s a POG?” Rinn asked as Jackson rolled his eyes.

“Person Other-than Grunt,” Bradfrod explained with a smile. “He sits back here, shuffling papers and counting beans while us Infantry types actually go out to war.”

“Ah,” Rinn said with a nod. “We have those, too.”

“Yeah, and if it weren’t for us supply types, you’d be out there fighting naked, chucking rocks,” he absently waved away her insult as he skimmed over the paper. “Jabs, do you know how many stars have signed this piece of paper?”

“Not a clue.”

“You’d have to take both your boots off to count that high,” he shook his head, stepping over to a copy machine set up on a stack of crates.

“Fuck you,” Bradford laughed.

“Our supply situation’s all fuckered up right now,” he said as he ran off a copy of the paper. Rinn’s ears flipped straight up, focused on the copier, and the sheet of paper it spat out. Jackson performed some secret supply ritual of signatures and stamps, and handed Bradford back the original. “We’ve got a thousand things we don’t need, and half the things we do need, and half of those are still back at the main supply depot at Tolkien. God, it's hard to take that name seriously,” He muttered, shaking his head. “Captain Holbrook’s actually back at Tolkienright now, trying to find some heads to bang together to get this mess sorted, and in the mean-time, they keep sending us random shit as it comes through the portal,” he waved at the truck being off-loaded at the other end of the tent.

“But,” he continued. “We’ve got plenty of the stuff you’ll be looking for.” He shook his head. “We’re about to go down to one meal a day because they’re not sending enough food to feed all the bodies that are pouring in here, but we’ve got plenty of combat uniforms, boots, plate carriers, ruck sacks, and other basic kit that everyone already has but that you’ll be looking for.”

“Excellent,” Bradford said, holding up her stack of folders. “I’ll also need some new rank pins.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. Bradford showed him the contents of the folders. “Oh, damn, Jabs! Congratulations!” He shook his head. “Man, I remember when you first showed up to the battalion. Now you’re making me feel inadequate.”

“You are inadequate,” Jabs smiled with a wink.

“Oh, fuck off,” Jackson laughed. “Most of the shit you’ll need is all in the last three rows, down there,” he waved at a corner of the tent. “Let me know when you find everything so I can track it properly.”

“Will do. Thanks, Jackson!” Bradford waved at Rinn, and they made their way around the ordered rows to the corner Jackson had indicated.

Bradford scanned the marked crates and boxes, and looked Rinn up and down. “Alright, let’s see … Let’s start with the uniform.” She waved at his gambeson as she started rummaging around the boxes. “Go ahead and start getting that stuff off.”

“Umm …”

“You can go around the corner to try stuff on,” Bradford laughed. “I won’t peek, I promise.”

With a sigh and resigned flick of his tail, Rinn began undoing his gambeson.

Bradford opened a box and pulled out a blouse. “Jesus fucking Christ! I didn’t think they made uniforms for wide-bodies this big!” She held it up for Rinn to see. “We could both wear this at the same time!”

Rinn’s ears went straight up, an expression of concern on his face. “How big do humans get?”

“Not big, fat,” Bradford said, stuffing the blouse back into the box it came out of in disgust. “What people do with their bodies in the civilian world is their own goddamn business, but anyone that grossly out of fitness regs shouldn’t even fucking be in the Corps.”

“Sounds like some of the Lord Commanders I’ve seen,” Rinn grumbled, folding his gambeson and setting it on the deck.

Bradford pulled out another box. “Aha! This should be more your size.” She pulled out another blouse, held it up for inspection, then tossed it at Rinn. “Here, try that on.”

He managed to catch it before it engulfed his face. He held it up for inspection, gave it a sniff, and with a waggle of his ears, he set it down so he could strip off his tunic. It was gray and yellowed, but Bradford suspected it had originally been white. I wonder how long it’s been since he’s had new, clean clothes?

Picking through other boxes, Bradford glanced at Rinn as he peeled off the tunic. I guess the fur doesn’t really leave much to see … His coat wasn’t shaggy, by any measure, but it was just long enough to have a little bit of floof. Like a short-hair cat. I wonder if he sheds... His chest was a bit deeper than one would expect for a human, and his neck and shoulder proportioning a little different, but overall, his frame was close enough to that of a human. I guess walking upright leads to some common patterns.

While Rinn figured out the buttons on the blouse and donned it, Bradford pulled out a pair of pants, a pack of undershirts, and suppressing an unprofessional giggle, a pack of skivvies.

“How do I look?” Rinn asked, holding his arms out.

Bradford turned her head to give him an appraising glance. “Well, the sleeves are a bit looser than normal, but they’re designed to be baggy, so it’s fine. It’s not too tight around the shoulders?”

“No, it’s fine,” Rinn said, rolling his shoulders as he inspected the blouse. He pulled open one of the front pockets, and his ears perked up at the tearing rip of Velcro. “What is this?!” he asked, closing and re-opening the pocket several times.

Bradford laughed. “That’s Velcro. It’s great for sticking things, but makes a lot of noise. Here, try these on.” She dumped the load of clothes into his arms.

Rinn took the items, examining them while he shifted them to a better grip. “What are these?” he asked, holding up the pack of skivvies.

“Those are skivvies. They’re for under your pants, assuming keshmin and human bodies keep the same stuff between our legs.” She saw his orange eyes light up in humor before they went wide and his ears flicked back. She chuckled, certain that he’d be beet red if he were a human. “Go fucking change, foxboy, and let me know if anything doesn’t fit.”

He looked at her, his ears flicking out. “You do that on purpose, don’t you?”

“I disavow all knowledge of what you’re talking about.” She gave him a perfectly innocent smile.

“You are the crudest woman I have ever met,” he said, walking around a stack of crates to the next aisle.

“Have you met many women?”

“I’m done with this conversation!”

Bradford laughed, and began sorting through the stacks of supplies, looking for the things Rinn would need. And anything else useful that I might be able to sneak out of here. “Oh, hey!” she pulled a pack of baby wipes out of her cargo pocket and chucked it over the dividing row of crates and shelving. “They haven’t gotten showers set up yet, so while you’re stripping down over there, clean yourself up a bit.”

“Gah!” he shouted after she heard the pack bounce off of something. She smiled. “What is it with you people and throwing things?!?” Bradford laughed, and continued building her pile.

A few minutes later, Rinn stepped around the corner again. “What do you think?” He struck a pose, putting his hands on his hips.

“Well, damn, Rinn, with those horns and that face, you really do look like a devildog,” Bradford laughed. “Looks good! Everything fit alright?”

“What’s a devil dog?” Rinn asked as he walked over and set his old clothes next to his gambeson.

“Nickname for a Marine. Comes from the First World War. The Germans called the US Marines they fought against “Teufel Hunden,” which roughly translates to devil dog. The nickname stuck.”

“I see,” Rinn nodded. “But what’s a dog?”

Bradford paused, leaning against a crate as she tilted her head at him. “Dogs are a companion species. We call them “man’s best friend,” and our civilization wouldn’t exist without them.” She paused. “I’m pretty sure they brought in a K9 unit last night, we’ll swing by their kennels after we’re done here, and I’ll show you.”

“Sounds good,” Rinn said, poking at the pile of gear Bradford had collected. “What’s all this?”

“This,” Bradford said. “Is your kit. You’ve got your backpack and all the accessory packs to put everything in," she pointed at each item in turn. "Your mess kit, hydration pouch, woobie and sleeping system, ballistic glasses,” Bradford paused. “Not really sure if those’ll fit you, but you can try ‘em on.” She shrugged. “Tarp, IFAK, gloves, glove liners," she waggled her fingers at him, "Good thing we both have five fingers! Neck gator, shovel, mag pouches, batman belt, frog gear, drop pouches, grenade pouches, knee and elbow pads, canteens, water-proofing pouches, Gore Tex pants and jacket, more pouches, extra socks and skivvies, plate carrier, ESAPI plates, aaand kevlar helmet,” she added, plunking said helmet down on top of Rinn’s head.

It promptly snagged on his horns, keeping the helmet from actually sitting on his head, and doing very little good.

“You carry all of these?” he asked, shoving her hands away and pulling the helmet off his head. His horns snagged in the strapping, and it took him a moment to remove it. He handed it back to Jabs in distaste.

“This is just the basic loadout. We’ll also carry ammo, grenades, batteries, battery charger, night-vision goggles, radios, and other personal gear.”

“How much does all of this weigh?!”

“With weapon and full combat load of ammo? About a hundred pounds, or more.” Bradford shrugged. “The guys in Weapons Company can lug a lot more hauling mortar rounds, rockets, and belts of ammo.”

Rinn looked back down at the pile of gear with a sigh. “And I thought my marching pack was heavy …”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got something that will cheer you up,” Bradford said, holding something behind her back.

“Oh?” Rinn’s ears perked up a little. “What’s that?”

“Boots!” Bradford said, pulling a pair from behind her back. “Here, put on some socks, and try these on.”

Rinn’s ears perked right up, and he promptly sat down. It took him a moment to figure out how to put on the socks, but once that problem was solved Bradford handed him a boot. “I’m not sure if the size is right, but it should be close. I’ve got three other sizes here for you to try on, if it doesn’t fit right.”

“What miracles you weave,” Rinn muttered.

“Hm?” Bradford asked.

“It’s from an old fable,” Rinn explained, as he tried on different boots. “About a young woman who tricks a Corrl elder into telling her their secret wisdom, and uses it to create miracles with her mother’s loom.”

“Yeah? Sounds pretty awesome.”

“It doesn’t end well," he frowned. "The Corrl didn’t tell her all of their secret wisdom, and she learns the hard way that everything comes with a price.”

“Oh, it’s one of thosestories,” Bradford snorted, poking around some more boxes.

He shrugged. “I always felt the ending was off, contrived, like it was originally something else that somebody rewrote to end differently after the fact.”

"Figures," she rolled her eyes. “So, are the Corrl like, some, ancient, mystical cult or something?” She waggled her fingers at him.

Rinn laughed. “No, they’re the Corrl. They’re, well … We sometimes call them the rock people, because they look like rocks when they huddle up and hold still.”

“You mean they’re another species, like the elves?” Bradford wandered around to the next aisle over, continuing her snooping.

“Well, they’re definitely not elves, but yes.”

“What are they like?”

“Nobody really knows,” Rinn shrugged. “The Corrl are even more reclusive than the elves used to be. They are a mountain people, and they live in small tribes.” He snorted. “They profess great wisdom, but refuse to share any of it with any “outsiders.”” He waggled his ears. “They have no regard for national borders, and have little military or economic significance. They’re considered a minor annoyance but no threat, and not worth the effort to remove from terrain that is rarely inhabited by any of the nations who claim the mountains they live in.”

“Do you know where they came from?” Bradford poked her head back around the corner of the aisle.

“Not a clue,” Rinn replied, tugging on another boot. “Some legends say they formed out of the bones of the mountains themselves, and are the guardians of all of the ancient wisdom of Gahla itself.” He rolled his ears in a shrug. “Personally, I think that’s just stories.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Bradford walked back into their aisle and slipped a couple boxes into Rinn’s stack of old clothes and armor. She held up a finger to her lips in a shushing motion.

Rinn mimicked the motion, his ears tilting forward in a confused frown, then understanding dawned across his face and he flicked his ears in amusement.

“Are there any other species or nations on this world? Do you guys have any other allies?”

“Well, there used to be other keshmin nations and city-states. Most of them were unified under the Ganlin banner three generations ago. The rest either joined the Kingdom during the war, or have been wiped out by the elves.” He pulled the latest boot off, and sat comparing it to another one for a moment. “I think this pair fits best,” he said, holding up the other boot.

“Great!” Bradford said, taking the other boot. “Let’s just put these other boots back in their boxes, and gather the rest of the stuff up. I’d just have you throw it all on, but the bean counters gotta count their beans.” She waved at him as he started to put his chosen pair back in their box. “Go ahead and put those ones on.”

“Right,” Rinn said, happily stuffing his feet into the boots. “There’s also the Dohlgra. They have a number of disparate city-states that are constantly shifting alliances, all orbiting their central kingdom. They’re big, slow creatures, broad of body and narrow of hips, and they walk on their knuckles as much as their feet.”

He paused, staring at his booted feet, and Bradford laughed when she realized he didn’t know how to tie them. “Here, let me show you,” she said, demonstrating the proper military way to lace his boots, and how to tie them. “They’re brand-new, so it’s probably gonna suck for a while until they get broken in, but the more you wear them, the faster that happens. Just make sure you take them off and let your feet air out whenever you can. Dunno about you guys, but foot fungus infections can cripple a Marine.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rinn said as he started gathering up his things, new and old. Bradford put a few things back on shelves or on other boxes, and gathered an armful herself.

“Are the Dohlgra your allies at all? How are their relations with the elves?”

“The Dohlgra were always decent trading partners, even if we did have to dance through their games of intrigue, but the elves are between us and them. They cut off the only land access we had with them years ago, and along with it most of the sea trade." He shrugged his ears. "I did hear a courier ship managed to slip the elven blockade during a storm a few months ago. The word it brought was that the Dohlgra were also engaged with the elves, and were seeing more success in their defense, mostly thanks to the mountain ranges that mark the border between their territories and the elven territories.”

“Alright, Jackson, I think we’ve got everything,” Bradford said as they approached the exit.

“Set it all out here,” he said, clearing some papers from his table and pulling out a handheld scanner.

“That system actually working, Jackson?”

“It works great when it actually works,” Jackson replied. “And it turns out, when you’re only a three-hour Huey flight from Silicon Valley, it’s surprisingly easy to get some egghead type who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing on-scene to properly set it up.”

“Oorah,” Bradford said, as Jackson began scanning barcodes. She turned back to Rinn. “So, the elves are fighting a two-front war, and were still rolling up the opposition?”

“Yeah,” Rinn sighed. “Magic is so much easier for them. Every elf can do magic. They usually specialize as a Mage or a Gemblade, or a hundred other specialties, but every elf can do some very basic spellcraft and enchantments, and everything they do, every tool, every weapon is enhanced by it.”

“Sounds like a tough advantage to beat,” Bradford frowned. “Is it just you and the Dohlgra, or is there anyone else?”

“There is the Khalim’Khali, across the ocean, to the East. They are cousins to us,” he said, flicking his ears out horizontal then back to their normal forty-five-degree swivel. “Though distant enough that interbreeding is rarely successful.” He shrugged. “There are rumors of a land bridge between our continents to the North, beyond elven territory, but the only contact we have had with them has been by ship. With the elves blockading the seas, we have had no communication with the Khalim’Khali in years.”

“Sounds like the elves have been working hard to keep all of you cut off from each other,” Jackson said.

“Divide and conquer,” Bradford added with a nod, shoving gear into Rinn’s backpack as it was scanned.

“Well, we’re on the job now. The U.S. will kick their asses all the way back to whatever hippy, tree-hugging hell-hole they crawled out of. And the Marine Corps will lead the way!”

“Oorah!” Bradford agreed. She picked up the stack of ESAPI plates as Jackson finished scanning them, and stuffed them into Rinn’s plate carrier.

“You’re all set, Sergeant. And here’s those rank pins for you, on the house.”

“Thanks, Jackson. I’ll make sure Kawalski gets you a souvenir.”

“Appreciate it, Jabs. You need anything else?”

“Shit, yeah," she stopped mid-turn, suddenly thinking of something. "Nametapes and a name patch for Ahyat.”

“Sure,” he said, pulling a pen and notepad out of a front pocket. “How do you spell it?”

“Uh …” Bradford turned to Rinn. “How do you spell your name?”

“Aen-aht-yi-aen-tat,” Rinn replied without hesitation.

“Fuck. How about we just go with the phonetic spelling in English?”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” Bradford said. She looked at Rinn. “Any chance you could do a written language translation spell?”

“Nope, not my specialty,” Rinn shook his head, tugging on the stave he’d slung back over his shoulder. “Honestly, spells like that are hard.”

“Right. So, Rinn “Shields” Ahyat,” Bradford told Jackson. “R-I-N, Shields, and A-H-Y-A-T.”

“So just the one N for Rin?”

“No, it’s a hard “nae,” not a soft “nah.” I’m not a fish.” Rinn flicked his ears back.

“Wait, “Rinn” sounds like “fish”?”

“Not if you say it right!”

Bradford laughed. “Let’s go with two N’s, then. And don’t let Kawalski know, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Two N’s it is,” Jackson said. “Should be able to have these ready for you in a couple days. Or three weeks.” He shrugged. “Anything else?”

“I think we’re good for now,” Bradford said. “Thanks again, Jackson.”

“Any time. See you around, Jabs.”

“Later.” Bradford grabbed Rinn’s rucksack and threw it over a shoulder, then handed him his plate carrier. “Here, you can carry this. We’ll get it adjusted back at the tent.”

Rinn took the fully-assembled plate carrier, and nearly dropped it. “Tahsh! What’s in this thing, rocks?!”

“Close to it,” Bradford laughed, heading out of the supply tent. “But the damn things work. Gomez took a hit from one of those elf wizard sticks and suffered nothing more than a bruised ego, and there’s a few guys in the battalion who took AK rounds in Iraq and Afghanistan and got back up because of those plates.”

“I guess it’s better than the full plate armor our knights and dragoons used to wear,” he said, adjusting his grip as he followed her across the FOB. “And it actually works against shardblasts.”

“That’s the spirit!” Bradford said, leading the way across the FOB.

“Hey, isn’t the pavilion back that way?”

“Yeah, but the kennels are over this way. I told you I’d show you some dogs on the way back.”

“You mean we’re going to haul this stuff all over the camp?”

“Yup! When we get out in the field, you’re going to haul this stuff all over the countryside!”

Rinn whined, and readjusted his grip on his plate carrier and old garments.

“I think you should just burn that old stuff, by-the-way,” Bradford commented. “I don’t think it’s going to be worth saving.”

“Yeah,” Rinn said with a sigh. “You’re probably right.”

“And here’s the kennels,” Bradford said, stepping over to a small, caged-in yard. An obstacle course was set up inside. A Marine followed a big German Shephard around as it exercised through the course. “That’s a dog.”

Rinn stepped up to the chain-link fence, tilting his head, his ears flicking forward as he watched the dog. “I … can see the resemblance,” he said.

“They’re descended from wolves, pack-hunting predators." Bradford smiled, recalling fond memories of the dogs she grew up with. "Couple hundred thousand years ago, or so, back when we were still tribal hunter-gatherers, some of them started hanging out around our settlements or camps or whatever-the-fuck-we-had back then, and we kinda adopted them. A combination of evolution and selective breeding for different purposes, plus a couple hundred thousand years, and you’ve got dogs.”

“So, they are domesticated livestock?”

“No, they’re a companion species. They’re not people-smart, but they’re very intelligent creatures, and they usually form social pack bonds with whomever they live with.” She shrugged. “There are a lot of working dog breeds, but it’s more a partnership, with them pulling their weight in our civilization, though it’s not an equal partnership.”

“I see.” Rinn watched the dog and its handler for a long moment. “Is that how you view us?”

Bradford frowned, pulling her boonie cap off to run a hand through her hair before responding. “Full disclosure, there’s a few assholes out there who will. Fuck, we’re still stamping out the last dregs of fuckwads who think that way about other humans.” She put her cap back on. “But most people? Most people are decent, if given the chance. You’re obviously as intelligent as we are, just a few centuries behind us in technology.”

She shook her head. “I can’t promise that there won’t be humans who try to take advantage of your people because of that, but I can promise that I’ll fight anyone I see who tries.”

“Fair enough,” Rinn said, and they turned away from the kennels, heading back to the squad pavilion. "Some of my people will probably try to do the same."

"Ha! Sounds like we'll be perfect for each other, then!"

***

“Jabs! Shields! Look who’s back and not dead!”

“Yeah, I heard, Gomez,” Bradford said, walking through the pavilion to drop Rinn’s new pack on his cot. “Welcome back, Kimber, how’s the arm?”

“Fine, docs stitched me up nice and tight,” he said, waving from across the pavilion. “I’m combat effective, and ready to kick some Keebler ass!”

“Since when are you a Sergeant, Jabs?” Dubois asked.

“Oh, snap!”

“Two days ago, apparently,” Jabs said, holding up her folder and tossing it on her rack. “I’ve got some good news and bad news on Goochy, too.”

“Yeah? How’s he doing?” Edison asked.

“Docs managed to save his leg, and he’ll be able to walk on it again with rehab.”

“Fuck, yeah! Man, can you imagine Goochy trying to dance around on a peg leg?” asked Sampson.

“Probably would have made him better,” Kimber laughed.

“True, that!”

“What’s the bad news, Jabs?” asked Kawalski.

“The bad news is that he’s out on rehab indefinitely. Might even be on his way to a med sep.” She tapped the new rank pin on her chest. “I’m officially the Squad Leader, so I’m in charge of all you fucks now.”

“Shit, that’s the bad news?” Edison asked.

“Fuckin’ A, brah!”

“There’s worse news, too.”

“The keeblers pussied out and aren’t gonna give us a fight?” Kawalski asked.

“No such luck. Davies was cleared by Medical; he’s coming back from convalescence.”

“Fuck!”

“I thought he was tapping out on some psych bullshit!”

“Apparently not,” Bradford shook her head. “But I do have some other good news,” she added, holding up the folders, gaining everyone’s attention. “It’s not much for ceremony, but some of you fucks managed to make the cut this month.”

She flipped open the first folder. “Sampson, you made Corporal.”

“Sweet!”

“Miller, you made Lance Corporal.”

“Nice,” he responded with a slight smile and nod.

“Gomez, you made PFC.”

“What? But I don’t meet Time-in-Grade for another two weeks!”

“Don’t fucking question it, Gomer, just take the goddamn paycheck!” Kawalski said, smacking the back of his head.

“Ow, fuck off!”

“And finally, Kawalski,” Bradford shook her head, handing him his folder. “You made Corporal. Again.”

“Fuck!”

“Probably the only man in the Corps who’s pissed off about making rank, right there,” Dubois laughed, pointing at Kawalski. Kawalski responded by flipping him the bird.

“Congrats, everyone, you all earned it. Now let’s get all this gear squared away and get some chow before they put us down to one meal a day.”

“What?! We’re in the fucking FOB!”

“There’s a fucking McDonalds less than twenty-five kilometers that way!” Edison pointed towards the portal. “And they’re putting us on one meal a day?”

“Not yet, but the supply situation’s fucked." Bradford shook her head. "They keep sending us all the shit we don’t need, and half the shit we do need. We’ve got enough food for the Marines we’ve got here now, but they’re sending bodies in faster than they’re sending the food to feed them. Now stow your shit. And Kawalski, if that espresso maker blows up inside the tent, I’m not lying to the CO to cover your ass.”

“Aye, Sergeant!” Kawalski said, snapping to attention and giving her an Officer Doofy salute.

Bradford rolled her eyes and turned away from him as the rest of the squad starting putting their gear away. She paused mid-turn. “Dubois, where the fuck did you get an avocado?”

“I got a whole bag of ‘em!” he beamed. “They’re not ripe yet, but they’re fresh picked! Snagged ‘em off that pile of trees they cleared out from around the portal. Figured it’d be a shame to see them go to waste.”

“Fucking Millenials,” Kawalski rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I’m older than you are, you fuck. No fresh avocado snack bread for you!”

Rinn shook his head as he arranged his own gear, his ears flickering amusement. “You keep using that word, but I don’t think it’s translating right. What does it mean?”

“What word?” Bradfprd asked.

“Ffffuck,” he said, struggling a bit to get the “ff” sound right.

“Fuck means … a lot of things,” Bradford glanced around awkwardly.

“Yeah, I keep getting a lot of different meanings whenever you say it.”

“It means all of them, depending on the context,” Edison added.

“Oh …”

“All this magic, and it can’t translate ‘Fuck?’” Kawalski asked. He waved his hand in the air. “Can’t you just snap your fingers and conjure up some understanding?”

“Magic doesn’t work that way …” Rinn said, shaking his head.

“Well why the fuck not?”

“Eh …” Rinn’s tail twitched, and he tugged at his left horn. “You have to create an artifice of mana to do anything with it. The more complex the thing is, the more refined, or precise, or delicate you need to be, the more mana you need, to control the mana you’re using, to do the thing.” He shook his head, his ears flicking agitatedly while he gestured in front of him. “And on top of that, you have to know how to structure the artifice to do what you want, and translating language from raw mental concepts is very complex, nevermind implanting that understanding in your head!”

“So how did that mass translation spell you guys put out work?” Edison asked.

“The artificer who did that is the Supreme Commander’s personal aide. He is a gods-damned savant, one of the greatest artificers to have ever lived. He burst a mana crystal large enough to power one of our heaviest artillery pieces for a week straight with his bare hands, and the effort nearly killed him.”

“Well, shit …” Miller said into the silence that followed.

“So … You can’t magic me up a Starbucks?”

“Shut the fuck up, Kawalski.”

***

Mid-afternoon found Bradford cleaning her rifle, showing Rinn how it worked.

“That is amazingly crude, and incredibly sophisticated at the same time,” Rinn said, examining the bolt carrier.

“Yep!” Bradford laughed. She nodded at his magic stick. “How does your magic staff-thing work?”

“It’s an Articulation Stave, or just Stave,” Rinn picked the staff up from his rack to show her. It was a little longer than her rifle, and mostly straight, but with a slight curve at the butt end. “It’s constructed to facilitate the flow and manipulation of mana. Artificers are keshmin who have a natural ability to sense and manipulate ethereal mana on our own, though only to a limited degree. If we can get a source of concentrated mana, like mana crystals, we can do more, but manipulating energy from raw mana crystals can be difficult, and sometimes extremely dangerous, especially if you don’t want to burst the crystal and use it all at once.”

He waggled the stave. “That’s where these come in. With the right materials and designs, we’ve been able to create tools that facilitate, and regulate the use and manipulation of mana, at least for a certain range of actions.” He set his staff across his lap, tracing the lines of precious metals set into its length. “The standard pulse and line artificer’s stave is designed to facilitate the generation of conventional spellshots, personal and Line shields, and an assortment of standard functions, like disrupting the artifice structures of elven spells, particularly their true invisibility spells.”

“Cool,” Bradford said, taking the stave when he offered it to her, and holding it up to examine it. “You’ve mentioned artillery pieces before. I’m assuming you have bigger staves that shoot more powerful spells?”

“Essentially, yes, though the construction of more powerful articulators like that requires them to be more focused and specialized. We can also create single-use articulators embedded with small mana crystals for use as ammunition in more conventional artillery.”

“So, you guys might be able to make something that fits inside one of our rockets or artillery shells.”

“That’s certainly a possibility.”

“Hey, Sergeant!” Dubois said, walking into the pavilion. “Staff Sergeant Rickles said they mustering all the squad leaders and up for a brief at the Company HQ.”

“He say what’s up?” Bradford asked, passing the stave back to Rinn and quickly reassembling her rifle.

“Nope, but the whole FOB’s started buzzing like somebody kicked a damn hornet’s nest. Word is we’re going on the offensive.”

“About fucking time!” Kawalski jumped up from his rack. “Time to get some!”

Her rifle reassembled, Bradford slapped a magazine back in and slung it over her shoulder. “Get the squad packed up and ready to move. Probably a hurry-up-and-wait, but let’s be ready, just in case.” She headed for the door. “Dubois, help Rinn make sure he’s got everything he might need packed up.”

“Aye, Sergeant.”

***

Five minutes later, Bradford joined the rest of the Echo Company squad leaders at the Company HQ tent. With over thirty officers and NCOs packed between the two Humvees, spacing was tight.

“We got everyone here?” Captain Spader asked, getting a confirming nod from Khatri, the company First Sergeant. “First off, congratulations to Sergeant Bradford on her promotion. It’s well-earned, and she demonstrated it is well-deserved while under fire yesterday. Saved all our asses. Damn fine work, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bradford nodded, as one of the other squad leaders patted her on the back.

“Alright, everyone, listen up. While the upper brass goes about unfucking the clusterfuck we’ve found ourselves in, we’re going out to keep the pressure on the enemy. These orders just came down straight from the top.” He stepped aside to point at a rough map set on a board for all of them to see.

“Recon’s ID’d a pair of enemy base camps, about fifty klicks to the west, probably where that army we wiped the floor with yesterday operated out of. Codenamed Backstreet One,” he pointed at the circled point slightly to the west, and then the one further north. “And Backstreet Two. They’re lightly defended, and we have a window to get there before the survivors from yesterday do. General Langstrom’s been put in charge as the combatant commander here on Gahla, and he wants those bases captured, looted for intel, prisoners, and any gear we can recover, then blown the fuck up.” Nods and mutters of approval rippled through the assembled Marines.

“Two/Five’s the only infantry battalion that’s managed to get in theater at full strength yet, so we’re it. Orders are to gear up, load up, and muster on the landing strip at Tolkien in one hour. Wheels up thirty minutes after that. Echo Company is taking the lead in the assault on Backstreet One, Foxtrot Company is taking the lead on Backstreet Two. Golf and Weapons Companies are being split to augment both. We’re getting helo and F-18 escort from Miramar, and the Air Force flyboys are sending warthogs for close air support. Time is short, so additional briefings will happen en route; if you have questions, unless it’s a show-stopper, ask them then.

“The General’s made this a top priority mission, so we’ve been given temporary usage of every Humvee, truck, APC, and tricycle that can carry a Marine to get the battalion to Tolkien on time. Muster at the ECP in thirty minutes. Bradford, bring your diversity hire. Command wants an initial evaluation of keshmin performance out of this. Dismissed.”

***

An hour later, Bradford was crammed into a Humvee with five very excited Marines and one increasingly-nervous keshmin as they rolled through the Entry Control Point for MOB Tolkien. Ahead, the portal yawned before them. Roughly oval-shaped, it stretched four times as long as it did high. The clear, sunny San Diego sky visible through the portal made a jarring picture against the low overcast-turning-vanilla skies of Gahla, clearly marking the portal even without the pale-green glow of the force wall that framed its edges and back.

The Humvee rumbled and rattled along the packed and scraped dirt and gravel inside the MOB’s expanding perimeter, smack in the middle of a column of a diverse and mismatched column of motorized vehicles racing towards the airstrip. Rows of Hueys and Ospreys were already idling on the field.

The column bounced across the rough-formed roads, weaving around temporary structures and not-so-temporary construction sites, and rolled right up to the air field. Clapping the random Marine who had been thrown in as their chauffer on the shoulder in thanks, she shoved her door open and stepped out. “Dismount, devildogs, let’s move!”

Further up the line, Barakis was shouting encouragements as Marines streamed out of the vehicle column, directing them to form up in front of the waiting aircraft. The rumble and whine of turbines and rotors filled the air alongside the sound of stomping boots and rattling gear. The rest of her squad hopped out of an SUV behind them with half another squad. They rallied together, and nine Marines, one Navy FMF Corpsman, and one keshmin Artificer raced to fall into their designated positions with the rest of the battalion.

As the last of the Marines trickled into the back of the formation, Barakis marched to the front. “Battalion!” He shouted. “AtteeeeenHUH!” The sound of nearly eight hundred Marines, Sailors, and one Artificer snapping to attention thundered across the field.

Michaels strode onto the field before the assembled troops, Winters at his side. Barakis snapped a crisp salute. “Battalion assembled and awaiting orders, sir!”

Michaels and Winters returned the salute, and the battalion CO stepped forward. “Marines!” he shouted, straining his deep voice to be heard over the rumble of aircraft. “Yesterday, Two/Five were the first Marines into this fight! Today, we’re the first Marines to take this fight to the enemy! Our mission is to assault two enemy base camps fifty klicks to the west of FOB Williams, capture every scrap of intel, equipment, and every prisoner we can, and then blow whatever’s left the fuck up before the remains of the army we demolished yesterday can get back to use it! General Langstrom's decreed that if the keeblers want to find a pillow to cry into after the beating we gave them yesterday, they’re gonna have to walk all the way home to momma back in Keeblerville! Oorah?”

“OORAH!” echoed eight hundred voices.

“Additionally, intel reports that the keeblers can use prisoners as living batteries for their damn mage towers. One, that’s extra incentive to not get captured. Two, last night, we found the remains of several hundred desiccated keshmin corpses in and around the ruins of those damn shield towers we knocked out. The poor bastards were nothing but dried-out skin and bones, sucked completely dry, most of them stacked like discarded cord wood. If they weren’t already dead when those towers fell, they would have been dead soon after.

“Intel doesn’t know how many prisoners they brought with them, nor how many they left behind, but our mission now includes the liberation and rescue of any keshmin prisoners we might find! So watch your targets! If it’s got fur, it’s probably friendly. If it looks like a damn Lord of the Rings cosplay, assume it’s hostile and light it the fuck up. These are some bad motherfuckers who are in need of a whole helluva lot of killing. Let’s go give it to them. Your aircrafts have already been assigned by squad. Fallout by Company. RETREAT!”

“HELL!”

“TWO/FIVE!”

“RETREAT, HELL!”

“Semper Fi, Marines! FALLOUT!”

“Echo Company! MOUNT UP!”

“Move! Move! Move!”

“Get the lead out, Marines!”

“Fuck yeah! Get some!”

Bradford sprinted forward. Following the calls for First Platoon and Second Squad, she raced towards the open ramp of a V-22 Osprey as what looked like half the 3rd Marine Air Wing’s compliment of AH-1Z Vipers and F/A-18 Hornets thundered through the portal above them.

*****

Tyriel’s night had been long and exhausting. He had skirted around the edge of the keshmin and human camp, staying well away from the harsh, unnatural lights and any patrols they might have. The human camp was not his target.

The journey to the portal itself was exhausting. Without the ambient mana fields of a mage tower, he was left to subsist on what mana he could draw from the ether on his own, and what food he had brought with him.

The forest he traveled through was young, and unfamiliar to him. Wild and untrained, the trees had forgotten their masters, and had no concern for him.

Just as troubling was the constant stream of human troops from their camp at the portal. He wondered how the keshmin had managed to create such a thing, but was unconcerned. Answering that question was not his mission.

Evading the keshmin patrols, or what existed of them, was child’s play. More difficult were the human patrols, and their strange machines.

Ironically, the greatest challenge came not from vigilant patrols, but rather the scattered keshmin who had yet to return to their army. They were everywhere, many wandering aimlessly, and weaving an unseen path through them proved to be his most difficult task.

His reserves draining quickly, he was forced to stop and rest several times. He foraged what he could, to conserve his food stores. Twice he was almost found out when fleeing keshmin nearly bumbled across him as he rested.

Finally, late in the afternoon of the day after the battle, he reached the human base camp around the portal. Its size and activity were alarming, and it was well defended and patrolled.

Tyriel was prepared for this, however. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a mana crystal. Placing the crystal against the emerald mana gem at the end of his staff, he concentrated, weaving the spell structure around himself. Though easier within the range of a mage tower, or with the support of other mages, the spell was still not difficult for him alone.

The mana in the crystal came unbound, streaming into the gem of his staff, and Tyriel vanished.

Getting over the humans’ defensive wall proved to be a minor challenge, but with a surge of mana through his blood to boost his acrobatics, and a few carefully-placed shield flickers to serve as stepping stones, he was across. The drain on his reserves was not insignificant, and he knew he would need to time to recuperate, but reaching his target must come first.

Maintaining the invisibility spell, and the rapid bleed of mana, he raced across the human fortification, dodging tents, people, and strange machines. He sprinted past a field with a large formation of humans standing before dozens of whirling contraptions, and nearly lost his concentration as dozens more of the thundering, mechanical birds roared overhead.

But by then, he was slipping through the portal, setting foot onto another world.

His reserves waning critically low, he ran across the open field on the alien side of the portal. Another wall presented itself, and with a desperately-short surge of mana he danced over it.

His energy failing, he threw himself across the cleared area on the other side of the wall, past more humans and their strange constructions and vehicles. With the last of his reserves, he stumbled down an embankment and into a small grove of trees that had never known an elven master. His reserves depleted, the spell failed, and he collapsed.

Victorious.

Episode 6

I must be going insane.

Rinn sprinted across an open field of scraped and packed dirt, surrounded by hundreds of non-keshmin, aliens from another world, towards a line of whirling contraptions that could fly. I must be going insane. It’s the only explanation.

The Marines ahead of him slowed, turning towards a specific craft. This one had two wings sticking out on either side, with great, spinning blades whirling above the columns at the end of each wing. “First Platoon, Second Squad! First Platoon, Second Squad!” another Marine was shouting, waving them towards the rumbling monstrosity. The Marines piled into the craft, ducking as they stomped up the short ramp and into the belly of the beast. Rinn followed them. I am definitely going insane!

Inside, the Marines were unslinging their packs and dropping into seats mounted to the outer shell. Following suit, Rinn fumbled for the straps on his own pack, and soon found himself being shoved into a seat and strapped in. Snugging the straps, Dubois gave him a slap on the shoulder and moved to a seat further in the craft.

Through a small window in the opposite wall, Rinn could see smaller flying vehicles. These ones had one big set of blades and a smaller set of blades on their tail, and were already lifting off, loaded with Marines. The rest of the squad piled in, along with Marines from another squad, then the ramp was raised and the tones of the contraption changed.

Jostling slightly, Rinn looked out the partly-open ramp. Above and below, we’re in the air. He latched his hands onto his seat.

The craft tilted, and the view from the ramp spun, bringing the portal into view as it turned northwest. Already a hundred feet in the air, Rinn was granted a birds-eye-view of the human side of the portal.

Past the fortified defensive line, he saw the ordered rows of orchards and farms surrounding a huge complex of bizarre structures that looked like long rows of white half-barrels. Beyond that was a great highway, stretching into the distance past mountains covered in green trees and brown scrub.

He felt a faint rumble and thunk beneath him, and a glance out the small windows opposite him revealed the vertical columns with their spinning blades had rotated forward. Glancing backwards again, Rinn saw the portal receding at an increased pace, a line of other flying craft trailing behind them as the rest of the battalion loaded and took off.

“How you holding up?” Bradford shouted, clapping him on the back. She had been several Marines ahead of him when they boarded. She must have swapped seats when he wasn’t looking.

“I’m sitting in a chair, in the sky!”

“Ha! You’ll get used to it!” She waved at a Marine near the ramp. “Just look at Hicks! He’s already asleep!”

“Nah, Hicks don’t count, Jabs,” Edison cut in from the seat to Rinn’s right. “The man’s a freak of nature! Put him in anything that moves, and he’s out, almost immediately!”

Rinn regripped his seat as the craft shuddered and rattled.

“Relax!” Edison said. “It’s just a bit of turbulence, probably from the portal! It’s having some weird effects on the weather!”

Bradford wrapped her knuckles on the steel helmet on his head. “Glad to see you found something to protect your grape!”

“Yeah,” he said, latching onto the distraction, tapping the keshmin helmet himself. “Your helmets don’t fit! Gomez found this somewhere. It’s still not the best fit, but it works!”

“Better than nothing, at least!” Bradford grinned.

“Hot damn, that’s a sight!” Kawalski said, pointing out the back ramp at the line of mechanical birds falling into formation around them. “This has gotta be one of the largest air assaults since fucking … I don’t fucking know when!”

“Shock and awe, man!” Kimber said. “Shock and mother-fucking awe!”

“Oorah!”

“I’m just surprised they were able to mobilize all this on such short notice!” Sampson waved at the craft around them. “Organizing an operation like this normally takes weeks! At least!”

“I know, right?” Bradford laughed. “The portal kicked off a mad scramble. Everyone’s been on high-alert and ready to go since it popped up!”

Rinn looked back out of the ramp and was amazed to see the portal so far in the distance behind them. Even more astounding was the appearance of the Royal Host camp and FOB Williams below them. He thought the twenty-minute ride from the front lines to the portal was amazing, a distance it would have taken the Royal Host half a day to march. We’ve been in the air for mere minutes, and we’re already crossing the Yinkai River!

Rinn sat back and considered that fact for a moment. We haven’t taken the offensive across the Yinkai in months! And here I am, flying through the sky, joining a band of marauding chaos demons in an assault on an elven camp, nearly into the next county!

He adjusted the helmet on his head, not liking how it chaffed against his ears, and tried to relax. Once you get used to the noise, the droning of the blades is actually kind of soothing …

“Ready up, Marines! We’re five mikes out!”

Rinn blinked. He hadn’t fallen asleep, but he had drifted away from the here-and-now, and hadn’t noticed how much time had passed. Are we almost there already?

Around him, Marines shoved each other awake and double-checked their weapons and gear. Rinn adjusted his helmet again, and gave himself a quick pat-down, looking for anything that seemed out of place.

“Keep your ears open!” shouted an unfamiliar Marine, tethered to the deck and manning a mounted machine gun. “The Hueys are engaging psy-ops when we’re two mikes out!”

“Best. Day. Ever!” Kawalski shouted. “Let’s kill us some fucking keeblers!”

“Oorah!”

The craft rolled, and Rinn found himself staring down at the Marine across from him while his stomach tried to do its level best to crawl up his throat. The world reeled outside the back ramp and the craft leveled out, much closer to the ground. A swarm of whirling birds of death jockeyed around them.

“Two mikes!” The Marines around him all grinned at each other.

At first, Rinn couldn’t hear anything over the noise of the craft he was in. Straining his ears, he started to make out the sound of some string instrument, the fluttering of a flute. Then the horns began.

The Marine on the machine gun leaned towards the ramp, gripping up on his weapon, eager for targets. He paused, putting a hand to one of his earmuffs. “Are you fucking shitting me?!”

“What’s the problem?” Bradford asked.

“There’s nothing there, Sergeant!” The Marine shouted, half-turning to face her. “Just a bunch of fucking trees!”

“What do you mean just a bunch of fucking trees?”

“I mean just fucking trees!” He pointed out of the ramp, at the uninterrupted forest below. “We just flew over the target!”

“Did we make a wrong turn or something?” Edison asked.

“No, we’re right on-target!” The Marine shouted. He paused to listen again as the horizon tilted. “We’re making another pass. Radar’s not jiving with what we’re seeing!”

“Could it be a-“ Bradford stopped mid-sentence as Rinn unbuckled himself and lurched to the ramp.

Bracing himself with one hand on the ceiling, he felt a hand clamp down on his tail. “I got ya, brah!” Stephensen shouted.

Ignoring him, Rinn spun a standard detection artifice. It couldn’t detect the elves through their invisibility or illusions, but it could detect … Aha! Somebody’s leaking too much mana! Shifting his grip on his stave, he fired off a hasty disruption pulse.

It was quick, dirty, and low-powered, but it did the job.

The flicker of mana burst into the edge of the illusion, disrupting a large swath and revealing the elven camp below for several seconds before the illusion re-stablized and the hole collapsed.

“Shit! It’s right there!” the Marine on the gun shouted as one of the Vipers spat several somethings trailing smoke and fire. They shot right through the illusory trees to strike the ground in a rapid series of detonations.

Completely disrupted by the rockets, the illusion collapsed, revealing the elven camp in its entirety. “We’re going in!” shouted the Marine, leaning out to spit a burst of machinegun fire into the camp as the craft rolled again.

Rinn stumbled, and Stephens yanked on his tail, hauling him back into the craft.

The ground came rushing up as they came in to land, and several pulses of small arms spellfire flashed by. Something tinked against the frame.

“El-Zee’s hot!” The Marine on the gun shouted as the ramp dropped and he swung his weapon clear. “Pile out!”

Rinn surged down the ramp with the rest of the Marines as spellfire flashed and gunfire rattled around him while an orchestral symphony blared overhead.

Stumbling, he struggled to hold onto the pack someone had shoved into his hands while firing a mana pulse in the general direction of a group of elven regulars charging towards them.

Leaf-green tents toppled and tumbled across the ground as thundering sky carriages landed and poured Marines into the camp. Their ride roared and lifted into the air, swinging clear as small arms shardbursts tracked after it. None hit.

Rinn dropped his pack and threw up a shield where he stood. Several shardbursts deflected off, but they were all shot wide anyway.

The squad of elves charged, swords high, but they were cut down by sustained rapid fire from Kawalski and Gomez.

“Eat shit and die, fuckers!”

“I got one! I fucking got one!”

“You fucking got five of them, Gomer!”

“Eyes front, Marines!” Bradford shouted. “Clear the El-Zee! Kill anything that’s hostile, but remember, we want prisoners! Two/Five!”

“RETREAT HELL!”

“At ‘em, boys!”

Contracting his shield, Rinn grabbed his pack and dragged it behind him as he sprinted after the Marines.

A hundred tails, several bursts of gunfire, and a few explosions later, and the fight was over.

“Is that it?” Dubois asked as the gunfire tapered off around him. Only the whirl and rumble of flying machines overhead and a few shouts from Marines remained.

“That’s it,” Bradford confirmed while Rinn took the opportunity to properly shoulder his pack, nearly falling over in the process.

“Well, that was a little … anti-climactic …” Edison said.

“Fuck your big words, it was goddamn disappointing, is what it was!”

“Hoss, that’s a bigger word …”

“Nobody asked you, Gomer!”

“They must have had maybe fifty people defending this camp.” Olanrewaju said, looking about at the torn-up tents and half-collapsed buildings. “No more.”

“Fifty fucking people?” Kawalski laughed. “We just dropped half a goddamn battalion with heavy air support on fifty fucking people?”

“Looks that way,” Bradford said, shaking her head.

“Shiit. There’s shock and awe, but that’s just fucking overkill,” Sampson said.

“Overkill is just more kill,” Kawalski declared. “No such thing as too much kill.”

“Right,” Bradford laughed. “Alright, stick together. We’ve still got mop-up to do, and a whole camp to search for anything we can haul off. Let’s go find the LT and see what he’s got for us.”

***

Rinn picked his way through the rows of scattered and still-standing tents. They were made of a strange, leaf-like fabric he had never seen before. I wonder if they’re grown … He paused, looking about.

“Something wrong, Shields?” Edison asked.

“I’ve never been in an elven camp before.” He looked at the Marines. “Seven years of war, and I’ve never set foot in an elven camp.” He gestured at the rows of elegant, green tents surrounding them. “We’ve beaten them, driven them back, forced them to withdraw, even overrun them a time or two, but we never managed to push them back so hard that they couldn’t decamp.”

“They really had you by the shorthairs, didn’t they?” Dubois asked.

“I don’t …” He snorted, staring out across the field of tents. “Yeah. Yeah, they did.”

“Well, you’ve got us here, now,” Kawalski said, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “We can all kick their asses together.”

“Let’s keep moving,” Bradford said. “The birds only have so much flight time before they gotta go back to refuel, and I don’t want to get stuck out here overnight. The pens are just up ahead.”

The pens. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, hope and fear warring in his gut at what they might find.

Clearing the last row of tents, a large corral came into view, constructed with the typical elven style.

“That looks … delicately brutal,” Dubois said, looking up at the inward-curving spines and spires at the top of the high fence.

“Those two words don’t go together,” Edison objected. “How can … Ah, fuck it, you’re right.”

“There’s a gate over here,” Bradford said, leading the way. “It’s open.”

“It looks empty,” Sampson chimed in as they approached. Bradford pushed the gate fully open and they walked inside. Rinn slowly walked to the center, and stopped, staring at an object on the ground as the Marines fanned out to investigate.

“There’s not much here at all,” Kimber said, gesturing about. “Couple lean-tos for shelter, a pit over here for shitting in, looks hand-dug.”

“How can you tell it was hand-dug?” Gomez asked.

“You can see the finger tracks in the walls.”

“Look at how the ground’s all tore up,” Miller said, pointing at the bare dirt and mud. “There must have been hundreds of people here.”

“None of them are here anymore,” Kawalski said.

“Where did they all go?” Gomez asked.

“With the army to the other side of the river,” Bradford frowned at the obvious.

“Yeah … Fuck.”

“Ah, Jesus …” Edison said, walking up to Rinn.

“What?” Bradford asked.

“There were kids here.” He bent over to pick up the crude doll that Rinn had been staring at, and held it up for everyone to view.

“Fuck …”

“Echo-One, this is Echo-One-Two, standing by to make report,” Bradford said into a ‘radio headset.’ It was in one of the boxes she had smuggled out of the supply tent with Rinn.

She listened to a response that Rinn couldn’t hear, then continued. “Echo-One Actual, this is Echo-One-Two. We’re at the corral, but the gate was open, it’s been cleared out. Ground sign indicates several hundred people were held here, including children.” Another pause as she listened to the response. “Echo-One-Two Wilco. Out.”

Bradford frowned at the corral around her. “Alright, make sure we get plenty of pictures. Intel wants them, and I’m sure the brass will want to feed some to the press. After that, we’re headed back to the El-Zee. There’s a lot of gear we’ll have to sort through.”

Rinn gently took the doll from Edison, and examined it. It was mostly rags tied together, with a bit of stuffing in the head. Crudely shaped like a keshmin, it had mismatched buttons sewn on for eyes, and was missing an ear.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “You going to be okay, Shields?” Bradford asked.

“Yeah,” he said, showing her the doll. “Maya had a doll like this. She called it Binkles. She carried him everywhere.” Gripping the doll tight, he twisted to try and stuff it into his pack. After he struggled a moment, Bradford helped him stow it away.

“I’m ready to go,” he said, looking across the corral.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” Bradford agreed. “Dubois, Stephens, you guys get enough pictures?”

“Yeah, Sergeant,” Stephens said, his irrepressibly chill attitude subdued.

“About as much as we can get,” Dubois confirmed, stowing his camera away.

“Let’s get back to the El-Zee.”

“Aye, Sergeant.”

***

Rinn stood up and stretched, feeling a satisfying pop and crackle run up his spine. Above and below, this stuff weighs on you … He rubbed a hand across his face, and scratched behind an ear. He had been sorting through gear for the last hour, inspecting captured equipment and doing his best to tell the Marines what it all was, and if it was worth hauling back or not. At least the “helos” and “ospreys” have flown up into a higher, wider pattern. I could barely hear myself think over their racket.

“So you’re sure you can’t make use of one of these things?” Edison asked, picking up the gemstaff of an elven mage.

“No, I can’t,” he said, pointing at the mana gem bound into the staff, near the top. “See this? That’s a mana gem. Only the elves can make them. We haven’t figured out how.”

“What is it? This one looks kinda like an emerald, or something.”

“It’s … It’s like a mana crystal, but with a much more complex structure. It’s very stable, so it can’t be converted into somatic mana and used up like a mana crystal, but it can storesomatic mana, and it makes it easier for the elf wielding it to channel mana, both in using stored somatic mana to cast spells, and drawing in ethereal mana.”

“Kinda like your articulation stave?”

“Yeah, same basic concept.”

“So why can’t you use it?”

Rinn sighed. “Because when an elf makes a mana gem, it gets personally tuned to them. Only that elf can use it.” He shrugged. “From what we understand about them, creating one is a difficult and arduous process for an elf, and entails some risk for them. Many elves never create a mana gem in the first place.”

Edison set the staff down and picked up a gemblade, examining the ruby-like gem set into the pommel. “Do they all get worked into stuff?”

“I believe so, yes,” Rinn said, picking up a water bottle and examining the material for a moment before taking a drink. This plastic stuff is fascinating … “We’ve only ever seen them set into specialized articulations, like a mage staff, or a gemblade, matching the elf’s profession or specialization. No two are alike.” He twisted the cap back on. “There are rumors that some mana gems are imbued with such a complex structure, or with so much of the essence of the elf that made them, that they are almost alive, with a personality all their own.”

“Really?” Edison swung the blade around a few times. “Like a living, talking sword?”

“So the rumors go,” Rinn said, setting the bottle down. “But I don’t think it’s more than just fantastical speculation and rumor.”

“You find yourself a souvenir?” Kawalski asked, wandering over with Bradford and Miller.

“Nah, it’s gotta go back with the rest of the haul for the egg-heads to study. We didn’t get enough of these things that weren’t tore up or blown to shit by artillery.”

“Don’t we have enough here? Just sneak it in your pack or something.”

“I wish! My pack’s not that big!” He shook his head, setting the sword back in the ‘important or useful’ pile of captured gear. “Besides, that’s one of them lightstaber shit-asses, and there were only a handful of those fucks and their magey-types here. Most of them were just regulars.”

“They all died fast enough,” Kawalski shook his head. “Too bad. I wanted to get my hands on a live Keebler so I could beat him to death.”

“That kinda defeats the point of taking prisoners, Kawalski,” Bradford laughed.

“It’d still be worth the satisfaction.”

“Coupla boys in Second Platoon nearly caught themselves one of the wizard types,” Kimber grunted as he and another Marine hauled a heavy chest over to the inspection pile. The rest of Second Squad and a few other Marines from Third Squad were following him with a half-dozen more chests. “But the bastard made his hands all glowy, put a knifehand to his chin, and blew his own brains out.” He mimicked the motion.

“Kimber, aren’t you supposed to be taking it easy with that arm?”

“Nah, it’s fine, Sergeant,” he waved her concern away. “Maybe only popped a couple stitches.” Bradford rolled her eyes. “Anyway, Shields! El-Tee!” he said, tapping the chest as the others were stacked up next to him. “I think you guys are gonna get a kick out of what we just found in one of the big tents.”

Meyers broke away from his conversation and walked over with Staff Sergeant Rickles. “What have you got, Corporal?”

“A whole fuck-whack of mana crystals,” Kimber said, popping the latch on his chest and flipping the lid open. “There’s another ten chests back there, just like these, all chock full of ‘em.”

“Gods above and below,” Rinn said, his ears standing straight up. “That’s enough to supply …” He flicked an ear. “Well, a whole army!”

“Good find, Corporal!” Rickles said, clapping him on the shoulder. Kimber only winced a little. “Take a breather and hydrate. First Squad’s been hanging out here with their dicks in their hands for the last ten minutes. They can haul the rest over.”

Kimber nodded, taking a water bottle and sitting down on one of the chests. “It’s that big tent over there, three tents down from the half-blowed-up hut. We stacked ‘em all out front before we hauled these over.”

“You copy that, Sergeant Tanner?”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant.”

“Right then, get to it!”

“Aye, Staff Sergeant!”

With a satisfied nod, Rickles turned back to his conversation with Meyer as they stepped away. “You sure we’re gonna have enough room for all this shit, sir?”

“Captain Spader just got off the horn with the CO. They’re sending a couple flights of Super Stallions for cargo lift, so it shouldn’t be a problem …”

“Lieutenant, sir,” Rinn spoke up, shifting from foot to foot as he eyed the open arsenal before him.

“Yes, Ahyat?”

“May I stock up, sir?” he asked, waving a hand at the chest. “I’ve only got a crystal and a half left.”

“Help yourself, Second Artificer. We’ve got plenty, and I’d hate for any of us to run out of ammo.”

“Thank you, sir,” Rinn said, barely stopping himself from giving the Lieutenant a crisp bow. No saluting in combat zones …

Meyers nodded and resumed walking away. Rinn jumped on the chest, greedily pulling out crystal after crystal and stuffing every single pouch he had with them.

“Jesus, you’re like a kid in a candy store!” Kimber laughed.

“You’ve never run out of ammo, before,” Kawalski said, snagging a couple fist-sized crystals and tucking them into a pouch.

His pouches topped off, including a few crystals large enough to properly feed an artillery piece, Rinn sat back, satisfied. I think I’m carrying more mana crystals right now than I’ve personally handled in the last three years …

“I think we made a good haul,” Bradford said with an approving nod. “They managed to burn a lot of their documents and gear, but we got a lot of it, too. Captured a bunch of tech, including some comms gadgets, and their goddamn magazine.”

“I just wish we had more of a fight,” Kawalski said, shaking his head. “I wanted to fuck up some more keeblers.”

Rinn rolled an ear at Kawalski. “I like your Marine way of fighting a lot better than what I’m used to, but I’ve had enough fights. I don’t need more.”

Kawalski shrugged, giving Rinn an understanding nod.

“Meh, it was good enough,” Kimber said, taking another swing of water. “But, hey, real talk, important question. What would you do for a billion dollars?”

“I’d do a lot for a billion dollars,” Kawalski said.

“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for a billion dollars,” said one of the Marines from Third Squad. Rinn didn’t know his name.

“Would you suck a billion dicks for a billion dollars?”

“Dude, I’ve already said, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for a billion dollars.”

“I dunno, brah,” Stephens said. “That’s a lot of dicks.”

“Dude, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for a billion dollars.”

“But that’s a billion dicks!”

“Just line them up, man, that’s a billion dollars!”

“You’d never finish …”

“But it’s a billion dollars!”

“Dude, that’s a dollar a dick.”

Rinn stared in a confused mix of fascination and horror at the conversation. Are they really discussing this?!? He glanced at Bradford. She was merely rolling her eyes and laughing at the conversation, though he didn’t miss that she was firmly not participating.

“Dude, five dollars a dick is a rip-off! You’re talking a dollar a dick!”

“Yeah, but-“ the Marine from Third Platoon stopped mid-sentence and turned, pushing Stephens out of his way. “This conversation’s over. I just shit myself.”

“What?!” Kimber laughed.

“I just shit myself. Move!” He shoved past Dubois and ran off as the rest of the Marines burst out laughing. Rinn saw an “Osprey” setting down in a cleared area a couple hundred yards past him.

“Did he just shit himself to get out of a conversation he was losing?” Bradford chuckled, pointing after him.

“I think he did,” Edison said, struggling for breath.

“What about you, Miller?” Kimber asked. “You’ve been silently staring at the trees this whole time. What would you do for a billion dollars?”

“Shut up,” Miller said, not shifting his gaze.

“What?” Kimber asked, coughing out another laugh.

“I said shut the fuck up,” Miller snapped.

“What do you see, Miller?” Bradford asked, stepping to his side, levity instantly forgotten. Rinn jumped to his feet, joining them.

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.” He nodded at the treeline. “There’s no birds singing over there.”

“I don’t see anything,” Kawalski said, peering through a pair of binoculars.

“Wrap it up, Sergeant,” Meyers said, walking over. “We’re pulling out.” He paused. “Something up?”

“Dunno, sir,” Bradford said, pulling a telescope-like device out of a pouch. “Maybe.”

Rinn squinted, running his detection artifice again. I’m not detecting anything, but it’s a good distance to the tree line …

Bradford fiddled with her device a moment before putting it up to her eye. “Shit! Contact! Hostiles in the trees! Visible on thermals!” She stuffed the device back in its pouch and brought her rifle up as Miller started snapping off shots into the trees.

The thwump of her grenade launcher joined the rapid staccato of Kawalski’s SAW, and suddenly the treeline was filled with elves.

“HOSTILES IN THE TREE LINE!” Meyers shouted as he grabbed his radio hand device. “All units, this is Echo-One Actual! Multiple hostiles in the eastern treeline, visible on thermals!”

Spellfire flashed by, and Rinn threw up a shield, deflecting the blasts overhead, then his blood ran cold. The trees seemed to sway out of the way as mage tower strode into the camp.

“Jesus it’s a fucking … WALKER!” Kawalski shouted, turning his SAW to hose down the spindly, three-story tower. The rounds flared harmlessly against the personal shields projected by its mage crew.

The tower swiftly cleared the trees, its six legs letting it scramble over the uneven terrain with ease. It slammed to a halt, barely swaying, and a heavy shardblast burst from the spindles at the top. It crackled overhead and slammed into the Osprey as it desperately tried to lift off. The violent explosion sending debris and shrapnel flying across the field.

“Fuck!” shouted Kimber.

“We’ve got a bird down!” Rinn heard another Marine shout.

Dozens of shardbursts snapped and crackled towards them. He angled his shields to deflect all that he could.

Another flash came from the spindles at the top of the tower, but instead of a shardblast, a pillar of energy shot up and arched over the tower and the hundreds of elves pouring out of the trees, doming them over with an area shield.

It stabilized just in time. Several streaks slammed into it in rapid succession, bombarding Rinn and the Marines with the concussion of heavy explosions. The shield rippled briefly, but was otherwise unperturbed.

“Shit! It took heavy artillery and carpet bombing to take down eight of those things! How much can one hold up to?!” Bradford asked.

The spindles flashed again, and a heavy shardblast thumped into the ground half-way across the camp. One of its legs swung up, over, and down. The tower started to move forward, one leg at a time.

“I don’t know!” Rinn said. “It takes us an hour of bombardment with several artillery pieces to bring down one! We’ve never brought down more than three!”

“Danger close! Danger Close!” the shout came barely seconds before the crackling thunder of a “warthog” spattering against the tower’s shields, followed a second later by a short BRRRRRRRRRT!The shields held.

A flash pulsed out from the spindles, and Rinn watched as a heavy shardblast flew towards the warthog as it banked away from its attack. It’s out of range, and it’s going to miss- his thoughts were interrupted when the shardblast reached its maximum range and detonated, bursting into a cone of mana shards that extended several hundred meters more.

The shards riddled the warthog, shredding one of the bulbs at the back and ripping off one of its tail fins, a third of one wing, and half the other. Rinn watched the warthog shudder across the sky, waiting for it to fall. He kept waiting as, to his utter amazement, it managed to recover. It flew off, trailing smoke, but still flying.

Almost as if in rage at its lack of a kill, another shardblast flew from the tower and thumped into the ground far too close for comfort. Dirt and debris rained down, scattered by his shield.

“El-Tee!” Bradford shouted.

“I saw it!” he responded, then continued shouting into his radio. Another explosion thumped into the far side of the elven shield, and the tower continued to advance.

Marines on the eastern side of the camp were streaming back to their position, or past them, pressed back by several hundred elves advancing with the walker, spitting lesser shardbursts.

“Fuck!” Meyers shouted. “Pull back, Sergeant! The El-Zee’s too hot, we’re out-numbered, and we don’t know what it’ll take to bring that shield down! We gotta get away from that thing and find a new extraction point!” The shield crept towards them.

“Tahsh!” Rinn cursed, crunching his shield and throwing an angled wall up directly between them and the tower. A heavy shardblast flashed out and skipped off his shield to detonate harmlessly in the air above them. “The elves will overtake you in the trees,” Rinn said. “They can draw mana from them, somehow!”

“Fuck!” Meyers cursed. “Well, we can’t stay here, they’ll overrun us!”

A streak of smoke and fire shot up from behind them to slam into the shield, again with no effect. Rinn reconfigured his shield to deflect the renewed volley of shardbursts coming from the elven mages. They’re all bunching under my shield … I can’t hold off a mage tower by myself!

“Sir, I have an idea,” Bradford said. “I need a javelin team.”

“Sergeant … I know what you’re thinking, and you’re fucking crazy.”

“Sir,” Bradford stared him down. “We’ve got Ahyat. Get me a javelin team, we can do it.”

Another shardblast thumped into the ground ahead of them. Rinn couldn’t deflect that one. A salvo of smoke and fire from a Viper splashed against the shield and it continued to edge closer. Rinn heard someone shouting for a corpsman.

“Damnit!” Meyers cursed. “Whiskey-Two, this is Echo-One Actual, I need a javelin team on my position, ASAP.” He paused to listen. “Whiskey-Two Actual, Echo-One Actual. We’re at the loot dump under the friendly shield. I’ve got a squad going under the enemy shield with our embedded keshmin to put fire directly on the tower. Echo-One Actual copies. Out.”

He threw down his handset. “The rest of the Company and Weapons Company are pulling back to here and are going to withdraw to the treeline. Second Artificer!”

“Sir!” Rinn kept his attention focused on the tower and encroaching elves, ready to try and deflect another shardblast.

“How many people can you effectively cover in there?”

“Much more than Second Squad will be tight at that range, sir!”

Meyers grimaced.

Two pairs of Marines lugging fat tubes jogged up. “Javelins as ordered, sir!”

“Sergeant Bradford!”

“Sir!”

Another shardblast thumped down behind them. Rinn heard screams.

“Take your squad and these two Javeline teams under that shield and take that fucking thing out!” He stabbed a finger at the tower. “The rest of First Platoon will fan out and draw fire to try and give you some kind of cover!”

“Aye sir!” Bradford shouted. “Second Squad on me!” She loaded a fresh round into her grenade launcher and fired it at the base of the shield. It struck and started pouring white smoke. “Move up!”

“Fuckin Ay!” Kawalski shouted. “Let’s go fuck up some keeblers!”

Rinn narrowed his shield and sprinted forward, surrounded by Marines. They passed several others, some laying down fire, some falling back, and some huddled under whatever cover they could find as shardbursts flashed around them. Some were dead.

Several thumps landed ahead and to either side, and a heavy smoke screen began to billow around them. Moving through the smoke, Rinn’s nostrils burned, but the spellfire around them thinned and became more erratic. Another shardblast flared overhead, and Rinn heard something explode behind them.

This is crazy! This is the most insane thing I have ever done in my entire life! He thought as they ran up to the shield and passed through. It had never been meant to stop infantry. But I think it can work! Which is more insane?!

Clearing the smoke, they became visible once more and shardbursts flared all around them. Rinn flattened his shield, deflecting the spellfire barely over their heads, as human gunfire hammered around him. Elves started dropping.

“Contact left!”

“Squad right! Squad right!”

“Frag out!” Sampson shouted, ripping a pin out of a green ball. He chucked it ahead of them and to the left. It tumbled through the air, skipped off the ground once, and exploded amidst a cluster of elves, sending them all to the ground. Half started screaming. The other half didn’t.

Kawalski’s SAW chattered to the right, mowing down a line of mages.

Several shouts came from ahead of them, and a formation of gemblades charged them.

“Contact front!” Bradford shouted, bringing her rifle up, but Rinn beat her.

Two rapid mana blasts punched into the leading gemblades, toppling them to the ground with gaping holes in their chests. He quickly switched to a fireburst, dumping more mana into the artifice than he had been able to spare in a long time. The spell pulsed from his stave and burst into a cone directly in front of the gemblades, engulfing their entire formation in fire.

They screamed.

“Jesus, Shields!” Kawalski shouted. “Fuckin’ get some!”

Bradford’s rifle barked several times, and Rinn flicked his shield to the left, deflecting a salvo of shardbursts covering a line of elven regulars as they charged. Rinn was about to fire on them when he felt the mana surge.

Instinctively knowing the angle was too steep to deflect the shardblast high enough, he flipped his shield forward. The blast from the tower flashed out, striking his shield, and deflecting down, right into the charging column of regulars. With a heavy thump, dirt and pieces of elves went flying high.

Well, that wasn’t intentional … he thought as he flicked his shield back in place. But nobody needs to know that …

“Defilade!” Bradford shouted, pointing at the newly-formed crater. The squad surged forward.

Rinn hopped over elven body parts and jumped into the crater as other Marines dove in around him. Kawalski and one of the “javelin” teams slid into cover behind a toppled cart that had been full of crates and barrels.

“Get those Javelins on target!” Bradford shouted as the Marines ripped the flared end off the front of their fat tubes.

Rinn sent another fireburst into a mixed cluster of elves, then desperately fumbled for a fresh mana crystal as his stave ran dry. The flames engulfed all but two mages. Several shots from Bradford’s rifle took them down.

“Reloading!” she shouted, dropping the empty magazine out of her rifle and grabbing a fresh one to slam home.

“Reloading!” Rinn belatedly added as he shoved a fresh crystal into his stave and restored his shield.

“Holy fuck, there’s people strapped to that thing!” Dubois shouted.

“What?!”

“There’s fucking people strapped to that thing! Eight, ten foxes!”

“Shit, you’re right!” shouted one of the Javelin Marines.

“They’re fucking cats!” Kawalski shouted.

“Jesus, some of them are fucking kids!” Kimber said. “They’ve got fucking kids strapped to that thing!”

“They’re dead!” Rinn shouted, sending several mana pulses into a group of elves advancing on their position. Something heavy thumped against the shield from the outside.

“What!?” Bradford asked.

“They’re dead!!” Rinn screamed back. “Once you’re linked to a tower, there’s no undoing it! They’re dead already!” With a wordless scream he threw an overcharged fireburst at the elves, ending them.

The tower slowly trod forward.

“Fucking kill that thing!” Bradford shouted at the javelin teams.

“Seekers good!” shouted one of the Marines. “It’s lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree!”

“Have lock?” asked his partner.

“Have lock!”

“Missile!”

Bradford grabbed Rinn and hauled him out from behind the tube.

“Firing!” shouted the Marine with the tube. With a thump and a roar a fat object spat out of the tube then took off on a jet of flame.

It raced toward the tower and second later slammed into its personal shields with a thundering report and a ball of fire. The tower staggered, but continued forward.

“Hit!”

“Shit, it’s still up!”

“Missile! Firing!”

As the missile thumped and roared away, Rinn felt another mana surge. He tipped his shield up and curved it, just slightly. The shardblast passed the missile in flight, curving along his shield and thumping into the ground behind them.

The second missile detonated against the tower, rocking it back. It stumbled two steps, then steadied itself, continuing forward.

“It’s still up!” Sampson shouted as dirt rained down around them.

“Reloading!” Rinn shouted.

Kawalski’s SAW chattered away. “Gomer! Where’s that fucking ammo!”

“Its shields are down!” Bradford shouted. “It’s taken damage! Hit it again!”

“Missile! Firing!”

A thump and roar. The missile streaked towards the tower, and detonated inside the twisted spire, just below the cupola at its peak.

The tower shattered. The cupola was thrown high, broken in three. Fragments of gold and platinum spindles and support columns were blasted across the field and the remains of the tower collapsed in the arcing discharge of a partially-charged spell as the shield bubble above them collapsed.

“Fuck yeah! Eat shit, fucking cockbags! Fuckin’ come and get some!”

“All units, Echo-One-Two! Splash one! Target down!” Bradford ducked as more shardbursts flew overhead and Rinn hastily shoved a new mana crystal into his stave and threw his shield back up. “Request close air support!”

“Frag out!” Gomez shouted, lobbing a “frag” out of their defilade at an advancing group of elves.

It exploded as Rinn threw a mana pulse followed by a fireburst at a mage leading a team of regulars, and then there was a helo overhead.

Cannons on either side of it hummed. Streams of fire hosed across the elves, as hot brass casings showered onto Second Squad.

Rinn flicked his shield over to protect them from the metal rain, and sat down, panting. Explosions and gunfire crackled around them as the elves were pushed back into the trees. Kawalski crowed victory as Marines surged around them.

The crackle of explosions continued into the trees, until they were silenced by a thunderous boom that threw up a towering column of smoke.

“Woohoo! Fuck yeah! That was a fucking jay-dam! Two thousand pounds of American FUCK YOU!”

“We did it,” Rinn panted. “We charged a mage tower. That was the most insane thing I have ever done in my entire life.” He laughed. “And we did it!”

“Thanks to you, man,” Bradford said, clapping him on the shoulder and giving it a good shake. “We’d have been fucked a dozen times over without you.”

“You’re a natural-born killer, brah!” Stephens grinned at him.

“I am not going to lie,” Olanrewaju said, sitting down on the edge of their crater. “I did not think that we were going to survive that one.”

“Then why the fuck did you come with us, Doc?” Kawalski asked.

“Because somebody had to hold you while you cried like a little beetch,” he replied.

“Hahaha, fuck you, Doc.”

“Hey,” said one of the Javelin Marines, patting Rinn on the shoulder. “You can cover us any time, Shields.”

Rinn nodded.

“Everyone good?” Bradford asked. “Nobody got any extra holes they didn’t have before?”

“Just the holes you and Sampson keep leaving in my heart, Jabs.”

“You don’t have a heart, Kawalski, the Marine Corps never issued you one.”

“Oh, that’s why that hole’s there, then. Makes sense now.”

Rinn laughed. I think I’m starting to understand their insanity now …

“Alright, let’s get out of this hole, and see what we have to do to extract from this fuck show.”

“Oorah,” replied several Marines.

*****

Tyriel woke up.

It was dark, but not as dark as it should be.

The sky above was black, lit only by a scattering of stars, but harsh, unnatural light flooded the area nearby.

He slowly picked himself up. I must get away from here. I’m too close to the humans’ defenses.

He placed a hand against the rough bark of the tree he had passed out beneath. The trees aren’t talking to me. They don’t even acknowledge my presence.

He considered for a moment. His mana reserves had replenished somewhat. Ethereal magic was just as abundant here as it was on his world.

Or is it just because I am so close to the portal?

Something to investigate.

But first, I’m too close to the humans and their defenses.

With his mana reserves as low as they were, he forewent the heavy mana draw of true invisibility, and instead blended himself into his surroundings.

Picking a direction away from the portal, he began to walk.

Episode 7

“Ah … Home, sweet home,” Bradford said, stretching as she stepped out of the Humvee. She snagged her pack and slammed the door. With a huff, she swung the pack up onto her shoulders as the rest of her squad unloaded behind her.

“Close enough,” Edison said, slamming his own door and banging on the side of the Humvee. The driver waved and pulled away. “Helluva day, huh?”

“Fuck yeah, it was!” Kawalski said, bouncing over. “We murdered those fucking keeblers good!”

Bradford rolled her eyes. “C’mon, let’s stow our gear and find some chow.”

“Yeah, I’m fucking starving,” said Gomez.

“Yeah, our boy here needs a fucking meal!” Kawalski said, clapping an arm around Gomez’s shoulders as the rest of the squad fell in behind Bradford. “He finally popped his cherry and turned himself into a real fucking Marine!” He waved at Rinn. “Even Shields got some today! Fuckin’ burned those bitches alive!”

“That was some fucking hot shit you pulled back there, Shields,” Dubois said, slapping the keshmin on his shoulder. “That tower would have had us for breakfast if it wasn’t for you.”

Rinn hunched over, ears flicking low, and he tried to wave off the attention. “I just worked a shield.”

“Nah, dude, you were, like, hellabadass!” Stephens chimed in. “You were totally clutch, brah.”

Rinn pointed an ear at him with a side-ways glance. “Are you speaking words, or nonsense?”

“Ha, you’ll get used to him!” Kimber said. “He’s a straight-up, SoCal surfer boi, and what the fuck is that?!” he asked, pointing up at a giant balloon that had suddenly taken off from the other side of a tent, a large pole dangling beneath it.

“The fuck..” Gomez stared after it.

“Holy shit!” Bradford said with a smile. “It’s a rockoon!”

“What the fuck are they strapping a racoon to a balloon for?!” Kawalski asked.

“No, fucknutz, not a racoon, a rockoon, portmanteau of rocket balloon!” She pointed at the dwindling balloon above them.

“I don’t speak French, Jabs,” Kawalski stared at her.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a rocket strapped to a high-altitude weather balloon! Balloon gets the rocket waay up into the upper atmosphere, then pops, and the rocket goes the rest of the way up!”

She laughed up at the barely visible spec. “We made one when I was in the Rocketry Club at Murray High!”

“You made a rocket in high school?” Sampson asked.

She shrugged. “It was just a couple of tubes of cardboard strapped to about two grand worth of model rocket engines, with a gyro stuffed inside and a GoPro slapped on top. It barelygot sub-orbital, but we did technically get into space! Damn thing came down somewhere in Virginia.” She grinned at fond memories. “We dressed the GoPro up to look like the Space Sphere from Portal, and stuffed in an MP3 player that played its lines on a loop to make it easier to find.”

“Ooohhh, look at the big braniac!” Kawalski waved his hands around as they resumed their trek to their pavilion. “Fucking nerd.”

“Fuck you, Kawalski.”

“Hey, Kawalski might be too dumb to see past his next crayon, but I think that’s fucking awesome!”

“Thanks, Edison.”

“Fucking neeerrds!”

“Says the guy who won the division’s Call of Duty championship, two years in a row!”

“Hey, CoD isn’t for nerds!”

“It’s official, guys,” Kimber chuckled. “Video games have been taken over by the mainstream jocks.”

“What is the purpose of this ‘rockoon?’” Rinn asked as the rest of the squad shook their heads at Kawalski.

“Science!” Edison shouted, holding up a fist, and receiving a quirked ear and eyebrow from Rinn.

“Yeah, the rocket’s probably packed full of sensors and cameras,” Bradford added over her shoulder. “The eggheads are probably trying to measure everything all the way up to the edge of space, see how much your world is like ours.”

“When you say ‘space,’ what do you mean?” Rinn asked as Bradford ducked under the door flap of their pavilion.

“Heh.” Bradford chuckled as she walked over to her rack and dropped her pack next to it. “So … Space is the empty void above the sky, past the edge of the atmosphere, that the Earth, the Moon, the Sun, and all the planets and stars are moving through.”

“Above the sky,” Rinn said, his ears dropping sideways as he came to a halt next to his own rack, giving her a skeptical stare. “Above the firmament of the heavens the stars are affixed to?”

Bradford laughed. “Dude, if this world is anything like ours, there’s stuff we’ve learned and can do that will blow your mind.”

“I told you, man,” Edison prodded Rinn’s pack. “We put people on our moon!”

“No,” Rinn said, unslinging his pack and dropping it next to his cot. “I just … No. That’s too fantastical! I don’t believe you!”

“Dude, we came through a portal from another world! How is walking on the moon not believable?!” Dubois asked.

“Will you fucking nerds shut up?! I’m fucking hungry!”

“Because we crea’ed the portal! I know ‘ow ‘at works!” Rinn snapped back, his ears sweeping up and back, angled like a second set of horns.

“Wait, what?!?” Edison said, stepping back in shock.

“You created the portal?! That’s where it came from?!?”

“Yes! I f- I think.” His ears drooped, deflating. “In … In theory …”

“What do you mean, ‘in theory?’” Bradford asked.

“We’ve theorized about how to create portals for decades,” Rinn said, tugging on an ear as he regained some of his composure. “I didn’t think it was possible, not really,” he flicked his ears forward and back. “It was like a puzzle that was missing several key pieces, and I personally didn’t think some of those pieces truly existed.” He waved in the direction of the portal. “Obviously, that is not the case.” He sighed. “There must have been some new discovery, something that fit the pieces together. It’s too much of a coincidence for it to be some random phenomenon.”

The pavilion was silent as they all stared at Rinn, considering this new knowledge bomb.

“The war was going really badly, wasn’t it?” Bradford asked.

“Yes,” Rinn sighed. He waved in the direction of the river, and the battlefield. “You saw yesterday. Was it really just yesterday?” He tilted his head at the thought, both ears flopping to one side. With a breath, he shook himself clear of the distraction. “The Lord Generals tried to downplay how bad it was, but yesterday, the elves took the bulk of what was left of our army and threw it into total rout.”

“You guys were pulling a Hail Mary,” Miller said. When Rinn gave him a confused look, he elaborated. “It’s a play in a game called football. Your team’s pushed back almost to the endzone on your side of the field, almost out of time, behind on points, and the other team is about to get the ball. So, you throw up a long-shot pass and pray to the Virgin Mary, Mother of God that the receiver will catch the ball and run it to the enemy’s endzone without getting tackled or driven out of bounds to score and win the game.”

Rinn listened, his ears fixed on Miller. He flicked an ear and nodded. “I think that’s exactly what happened.”

“Fuck it,” Kawalski said. “Damn keeblers’re in need of a fuckload of killing. Killin’s what Marines are made for. If the cats’re the ones who made the portal and gave me the opportunity to kill people who deserve to be made dead with extreme prejudice, I’ll buy ‘em a fuckin’ beer any day.”

“Amen to that, brother,” Miller said.

“Oorah,” added Kimber.

“Oo-fucking-rah!” said Gomez, with a smile.

“Now let’s quit gabbin’ about a bunch of fuckin’ nerd shit, and let’s go get some fucking chow.”

All agreed on their hunger, the squad finished stowing their gear and headed for the chow hall.

***

“So how does the portal work?” Edison asked as they made the short trek to the chow hall.

“Well,” Rinn said, his ears flicking back against his head for a moment.

God, those things are so expressive … And fuzzy. Bradford clenched her fists. No scritching colleagues’ ears. It’s unprofessional.

“I don’t exactly know how it works. Just the basic theory.” He considered for a moment, then held his hands together, squeezing his fingers about a tiny point. “In layman’s terms, on the most miniscule levels, the ether through which all mana flows, the underlying fabric of reality, acts as discreet points, like a single piece of ether, as well as part of the greater fabric.”

He held up one hand, palm up. “It has long been shown that, if you can isolate a fine enough point in the ether, you can entwine it with another, finely-isolated point of ether.” He held up his other hand, also palm up. “Mana channeled into one,” he held up his right hand, “then resonates out of the other,” he held up his left. “As if reverberating down a narrow tunnel between the two.”

“That’s quantum entanglement!” Bradford said.

“Maybe?” Rinn reached up as if to tug at an ear, but caught himself and flicked his ears instead. “The translation spell was far from complete, and even the best translations don’t give cultural context.”

“About that,” Sampson said as they filed into the large tent that was the chow hall. “How does that whole translation thing work? If there’s magic that can screw with our heads like that, don’t we have to worry about mind control?”

“Eh, it-“ he stopped mid-sentence as his nose twitched, his eyes going wide. “What is that smell?!”

“Holy shit, is that, like, real food, brah?” Stephens asked, pointing at a line of Marines shuffling past steam trays loaded with hot food.

“Define ‘real food,’” Miller said.

“Not an MRE, brah.”

“A rock is not an MRE, that doesn’t make it real food.”

“Compared to a vomelet, it might be,” Kimber said.

“… Fair point.”

“That’s … actually real food,” Bradford said, snagging a tray and cutlery for herself and for Rinn as they joined the chow line.

“Ah shit, it’s fucking surf ‘n turf! Looks like we’re getting deployed, boys!”

“Kawalski, we’re already deployed!” Dubois rolled his eyes

“Then we’re getting double-deployed!”

“I don’t think they can officially say ‘get fucked on deployment’ until they’ve given us a surf ‘n turf cocktease,” Kimber stated. “Pretty sure it’s in the regs somewhere.”

“So, they shoved it in our ass, then remembered they were supposed to do a little foreplay?”

“What is this?!” Rinn asked, staring at the trays of food as they approached, practically salivating.

“Fresh meat,” Bradford said, watching as a food service specialist set a dripping steak onto her tray. She managed to control her own salivating enough to ask, “Do you want steak or seafood?”

Rinn just stared at the trays, jaw working silently.

“Give him both!” Kimber said from further back in the line.

The mess attendant glanced at Bradford.

“He’s been on field rations longer than you’ve been in the Corps,” she said, jerking her head at the steam trays. “And he pulled our asses out of the fire today. Give him both.” With a shrug, the attendant dropped a steak and a lobster tail onto Rinn’s tray. Bradford stifled a laugh. He looks like his eyes are going to pop out of his skull!

They continued down the line, collecting a selection of canned vegetables and pre-made rolls, then made their way to an open table.

“Hey, what if he’s got, like, allergies, brah? Or, like, what if all our food is toxic?”

“I think we’re a little past that, Stephens,” Dubois said. “We’ve fed him twice already.”

“We’ll just keep an eye on him,” Bradford said, unable to hold in her laugh at Rinn’s suddenly pained expression.

After taking a moment to eye his cutlery, and to watch the humans tuck into their food, Rinn sawed off a piece of steak. Bradford watched as he stabbed it with his fork and slowly brought it to his mouth. He pulled the morsel off his fork, and she watched him practically melt as he chewed and savored it.

Once he swallowed, Bradford opened her mouth to speak, but he picked up the steak with both hands and tore into it directly. “Well, I was going to ask him how long it’s been since he’s had fresh meat …” Bradford muttered to Dubois, sitting next to her. He chuckled and shook his head, continuing with his own meal.

As Rinn wolfed down his meal, Bradford caught flashes of his teeth. He’s got canines, but not as pronounced as a wolf or a dog, and his molars look flatter. She tucked into her steak, chuckling as the rest of the Marines stared at Rinn for a moment before shrugging and tearing into their own food.

“Hey, Jabs,” Kimber said as he pulled apart his lobster tail. “You said you went to Raymond Murray High?”

“Yep.”

“I thought you went to high school in Maryland.”

“I graduated high school in Maryland,” she said around a bite of steak. “Dad transferred to DC the summer before my senior year. He was stationed at Pendleton my first three years of high school.”

“Your dad was a Marine, too?” Gomez asked from across the table.

“Not just that,” Dubois said, setting his cup down and waving his fork at Bradford. “Jabs here is a pure-bread Marine Corps brat.”

“Fourth generation!” she grinned, washing another bite down with her own drink. “Dad was in for Kosovo, Afghanistan, and most of Iraq Two. Gramps was in Vietnam and retired after Iraq One. My great-grandfather served with Chesty Puller himself in the Second World War and Korea!”

“Damn, Sergeant, that’s a helluva pedigree,” Gomez said.

“Uh, how do I?” Rinn asked, holding up the lobster tail and looking like he wanted to gnaw on it.

“They never split them like they’re supposed to,” Sampson said, rolling his eyes. “Just twist the tail, yeah, those bits, just twist ‘em right off. Yep, just like that. Now just use your fork and just push the meat out, or … Or just pull it out with your fingers, that works, too.”

The rest of the squad shared a chuckle as Rinn scarfed down the lobster. He ignored them.

***

“Dude,” Kawalski shook his head, laughing as they filed out of the chow hall. “I haven’t seen someone suck down meat that fast since that time Sampson talked half the squad into going out bar hopping with him, and he hit half the gay bars in downtown San Diego.”

Rinn blinked as his tail went rigid behind him and ears did an erratic twirl.

“You know, Kawalski,” Bradford chimed in. “You sure do talk a lot about homosexuality for a straight guy.”

“Didn’t you end up dancing with half the guys in that last club we went to?” Sampson asked.

“It was a dance floor! It was for dancing!”

“I’m pretty sure you were doing more than just dancing,” Sampson chuckled.

“Let’s be fair,” Bradford cut in before Kawalski could get worked up. “All of you were doing more than ‘just dancing.’” She laughed. “Didn’t Ramirez spend half the night riding around on the shoulders of that giant bear?”

“Yeah! What the fuck did they call him?” Kawalski asked. “Pickles?”

“Piccolo,” Bradford giggled. “It’s Italian for ‘small.’”

“Hah, yeah! I remember trying to google that on my phone!”

“Didn’t we get kicked out of that place?” Bradford asked, pushing aside the door flap of their pavilion.

“Fuck, yeah, we did!” Kawalski grinned. “Goddamn Carlson stripped down to a goddamn speedo and started pole dancing on the goddamn bar! Then he fucking threw up, all over it! We’re talking Exorcist level projectile vomiting! And then he kept dancing!”

“Hahaha! Yeah! I saw it hit the bartender! Fucking Carlson …” Her laugh slowly trailed to a chuckle and then nothing as she remembered what had happened to Carlson the day before. What his face looked like after being torn open by shrapnel. “Fuck …”

Silence fell as they all sat down on their racks, fiddling with equipment or stowing gear.

“So,” Dubois cut in, jerking them all back from that painful contemplation. “Ahyat. We never actually figured out what rank you’re equivalent to.” He gestured at Bradford. “Like, our ranks go from E1 to E9 for the enlisted side. E1’s a Private, Gomez is an E2 Private First Class.” He gestured at Miller, Edison, and Stephens. “Those fucks are all E3s, or Lance Corporals. We’re all Corporals at E4, which is the lowest Non-Commissioned Officer, or NCO rank.”

“Jabs is a Sergeant now, E5,” Kimber added. “They lead squads and learn how to yell at people for putting their hands in their pockets.”

“Staff Sergeants run the platoon with the LT,” Dubois continued, rolling his eyes. “Then you get Gunnery Sergeants at E7, and First Sergeant and Master Sergeant at E8. Same rank, but they fill different roles.”

“Same with E9. You’ve got Sergeant Majors, like Sergeant Major Barakis, who fills Two/Five’s Battalion Sergeant Major billet, and then you’ve got Master Gunnery Sergeants, like Master Guns Cho, who fills more of a senior expert role than an admin and management role.” Kimber scratched his head. “I guess it can be kinda confusing.”

Rinn shrugged his ears. “Not really any more so than ours.” He paused to consider for a moment, rubbing at the base of a horn. “Each Line, which is roughly equivalent to a Marine Company, I think, or Battalion?” He frowned. “Yes, battalion,” he said with a nod. “Each Line has one or two First Artificers. Second Artificers support the First Artificer directly, or provide artifice support to individual Columns, which are roughly equivalent to your companies. Support below the Column support is usually taken up by Third Artificers.”

He shifted on his cot, tugging at the field modification in his pants for his tail. “Every Royal Host armsman is initially trained as a Pikeman. We are all required to retain basic proficiency with the pike, but many other specialized roles exist, such as archers and crossbowmen, artillerymen, artificers, et cetera.”

He paused to make sure the rest of the squad was following, and continued when Bradford gave him a nod. “After basic training, I was granted rank as an Artificer Apprentice. Next comes Artificer Junior, then Third Artificer, Second, and First.” He ticked off ranks on his fingers.

“Artificer Adepts command the Artificers of a whole Contingent, and Master Artificer is the highest rank an Artificer can achieve.”

“So, you have seven enlisted ranks?”

“In basic essence, yes,” Rinn nodded. “Though there is more distinction. Rank is earned by a combination of time, performance, and skill. At least, notionally they are.” He frowned. “Patronage matters a lot at the higher levels.”

“Yeah, it’s all politics at that level for us, too,” Bradford rolled her eyes. It seems political bullshit is universal.

Rinn nodded. “A lack of patronage can stunt an Artificer’s career even at the middle level, at my level.” He glanced to the side for a moment, flicking an ear in annoyance, before continuing.

“Actual authority varies a little by assigned position and artificing specialty. For example, a combat artificer like myself, or an artillery artificer, will have authority over a medical artificer on the battlefield.”

“Yeah, we have position of authority type stuff, too.”

“Doesn’t prevent some fuckheads from trying to pull rank, anyway …” Kawalski grumbled. The rest of the squad all nodded in agreement.

“Artificers rarely command anything other than other artificers in the field. Authority, at all levels, usually falls to the regular armsmen and the Lord Commanders.” Rinn looked up, quoting a memorized passage. ‘The job of an artificer is not to lead men into battle, but to support their column or line or contingent.’”

“Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die,” Bradford quoted.

“Tennyson?” Dubois asked. Bradford nodded.

Rinn snorted at the line, flicking his ears back and forth. “Sounds exactly right.” He reached up and rubbed a horn again. “As Second Artificer assigned to support a Column rather than the Line’s First Artificer, my authority would fall somewhere between a Corporal and a Sergeant.”

“So, you’re like a super corporal, or a half-sergeant?” Kimber asked.

“Heh. I’ll half your sergeant,” Kawalski chuckled.

Rinn opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. He turned to stare at Kawalski, one ear flicking up while the other flicked down. “How do you manage to turn everything into some kind of inuendo?”

“Talent,” Kawalski said, crossing his arms behind his head with a self-satisfied smile.

Rinn was still considering a reply when the door flapped open.

“Fucking found you guys!”

“Aw, shit …” Kimber muttered.

Corporal Davies walked in, lugging a sea bag in addition to his pack and rifle. “Been looking all over, nobody seemed to know where you the fuck you were at!”

“I thought you were getting out on med sep!” Edison said.

“Turns out basilar migraines suddenly aren’t medically disqualifying when there’s a no-shit war on! Time to get some, right?” Bradford grit her teeth while the rest of the squad rolled their eyes or tried to pretend Davies wasn’t there.

Davies lugged his gear across the pavilion and dropped it on a rack between Sampson and Kimber, pausing to catch his breath. He was already pushing the weight limit before he went limdu, Bradford thought. His pants button looks like it’s in Condition One!

Sampson lay back to stare at the overhead in silence. Kimber rolled over to face away from Davies.

“You already missed the chance to get some,” Kawalski said. He was still lying on his rack with his hands behind his head, but his previous joviality gone. “Twice.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault medical took so long to clear my waivers!” He protested, pulling his helmet off.

At least he managed to get a sat haircut before he deployed …

“Anyway, where’s Gutierrez at so I can check in with the Squad Leader?” He glanced around, stopping when his gaze crossed Rinn. “And who the fuck is this guy?”

“Gutierrez is in a recovery ward at UC San Diego,” Bradford said, standing up. “He got his leg blown off yesterday. I’m the Squad Leader now.” She turned to make sure he could see her new rank pin and locked eyes with him. Try and pull rank on me now, asshole.

“This,” she said, gesturing at Rinn, “Is Second Artificer Ahyat, of the Ganlin Royal Host. He has been seconded by the Ganlin army to provide us with artificer support and to evaluate Ganlin military capabilities. His rank is roughly equivalent to sergeant.” Rinn flicked an ear up at her, but remained silent. Not exactly accurate, I know, but I’m doing you a favor … “Ahyat, this is Corporal Davies, he is the Fire Team Leader of Second Team.”

Rinn stood and turned to face Davis, giving him a small nod of acknowledgement. “Good evening, Corporal Davies. I look forward to working with you.”

Davies frowned. “What the fuck did he just say?”

“He said “good evening” and that he looks forward to working with you,” Edison said. “You can’t understand him?”

He was still back at Pendleton when we got here … Bradford thought.

“You can understand that?” Davies asked. “All I heard was yips and yowls.”

“Oh, shit, you weren’t in range!” Edison said. “You didn’t get the translation!”

“In range for what? What translation?”

“Some keshmin artificer savant type popped a massive area-effect translation spell right when we showed up here,” Edison said. “Like, HUGE area of effect. I heard it even caught the guys in the defensive line on the Earth side of the portal!” He waved at Rinn. “We can all understand him.”

“Is this going to be a problem?” Rinn asked.

“I hope not,” Bradford replied.

“You hope not what?”

“That this will be a problem,” Gomez said. “Hey, Shields, why don’t you just cast that translation spell? It don’t got to be super huge or anything, just on Davies.”

“Not my specialty!” Rinn shook his head. “The only artifices I know how to apply to someone’s head are destructive. I don’t even know where to begin with translation spells!”

“Now what’s he saying?”

“He says he can try doing a translation spell, but that it might blow your head off,” Kawalski said.

“That is not what I said!” Rinn said, snapping his head around to glare at Kawalski, his ears popped straight up.

“Meh, close enough,” Kawalksi replied.

“I’d like to not have my head blown off, thank-you-very-much!”

“Alright, settle down,” Bradford said, intervening before things got carried away. “Look, it’s been a long day, it’s getting late, and we’ve all had to deal with a lot of shit. Let’s just hit the rack tonight, and then we can figure this all out in the morning.”

“I-“

“In the morning,” she enunciated, cutting Davies off. “Stephens, kill the light.”

“Aye, Sergeant,” he replied, turning off the light string they had rigged inside the pavilion.

Bradford sighed, taking off her blouse before sitting down to pull off her boots and socks. She heard the rest of the squad settling in for the night while Davies grumbled his way back to his chosen rack. Lying down, she closed her eyes and tried to ignore the sounds of Davies rummaging through his bags in the dark. Tomorrow is going to be fun …

*****

Michaels knocked on the door frame. “You wanted to see me, sir?” A helicopter rumbled overhead outside.

“Come on in, Colonel,” Colonel Anders said from behind the desk of his new field office. “Have a seat.” He waved at the empty chair in front of his desk. Sounds of construction and the bustle of an active military base could be heard through the pre-fabricated walls.

“Good morning, General,” Michaels said as he took a seat, nodding at Brigadier General Zoroiwchak, who was occupying the other seat in front of Anders’ desk. Something’s up. I don’t remember ever joining the CO of 1st Marine Division in Colonel Anders’ office.

“Good morning, Colonel,” Zoroiwchak said with a smile and a nod. If General Zoro is smiling, this is either good, or really bad …

“So, what’s going on, sir?” Michaels asked, steeling himself for unpleasant news, like another war, divorce, or Kawalski starting another international incident.

“Straight to the point as always,” Zoroiwchak grinned. “That’ll probably get you in trouble someday, but I like it.”

“It’s good news for Two/Five,” Anders said. “While your boys were out taking the fight to the enemy, three more infantry battalions managed to get fully in-theater. Half of the 1st Tank Battalion is rolling through the portal as we speak, and a second Seabee battalion is on their way down from Port Hueneme, they should be on-site by noon.”

“Sounds like we’re ramping up fast, sir.”

“We are,” Zoroiwchak confirmed. “But it’s still going to take another week to get the rest of One Marine’s combat elements in-theater, probably two to sort out our supply and logistics issues, and three for the Army to show up, fuck everything up, and wag their dick around while they figure out how to unfuck themselves.”

“This all means that Two/Five is getting reassigned,” Anders said. “Your battalion is being relocated back here, to Tolkien.”

“Are we being pulled out of the fight, sir?”

“Hardly,” Anders scoffed. “But your battalion was in the thick of it yesterday. For an engagement against a force as much as twice your number, with artillery support that neutralized your air support, your casualties at Backstreet One were pretty damn light. But your boys didn’t come away unscathed, and they’ve earned a break. Your orders are to rest, recuperate, re-equip, and most importantly, re-train.”

“Your boys led the charge into this fight, and they led the charge into the first offensive action of the war,” Zoroiwchak added. “They’ve kicked ass everywhere they went, and that’s not gone unnoticed. General Langstrom himself wants Two/Five up front leading the way when we make the big push, which means I need them rested and ready to go when that happens, and ready to work with embedded Ganlin artificers, against the new kinds of threats these elves are throwing at us.”

“I understand, sir,” Michaels said. “I was at Backstreet Two, and we didn’t see anything beyond the initial engagement, but I have full confidence in Major Winters’ report on our artificer’s actions and capabilities. It’s not something I want to go into any fight without, even without the keeblers’ invisibility tricks.” Michaels hid an internal flinch. Goddamnit, that word catches like the damn plague …

“It was pretty damned impressive,” Zoroiwchak nodded. “It could change a whole lot of things, and not just here on Gahla.”

“That’s why Two/Five is being pulled back,” Anders said, handing Michaels a thin folder containing the formal orders. “We’ve talked Ganlin into assigning us a small detachment of artificers to help develop new combined-arms tactics. It’s not as many as we’d like, and most of them aren’t going to be permanently assigned to your unit, but they’re pretty short-handed, what with still trying to round up half their army out of the countryside.”

“When do we start training with them?”

“Four days,” Anders said. “That’s why we want Two/Five moving back here today. It’ll give you some time to settle in and get set up, considering you’ll have to build most of your own training facilities.”

Michaels nodded. That figures.“That’s not a whole lot of time, but my boys will get it done.”

“I have full confidence that they will,” Anders said.

“Thank you, sir. Is there anything else?” Michaels raised an eyebrow at his boss and his boss’ boss.

“There is,” Zoroiwchak said. “It’s why I’m here, actually.” He sat back in his chair. “The Ganlin military have been happy enough to provide us with “artifice” devices that disrupt elven invisibility, and the artificers needed to tend them, but they have been … cautiousabout sharing details on magic in general, and their flavor of it in particular.”

He brushed the issue aside with a wave. “Understandably so. We rolled in from nowhere and kicked the ass of the guys kicking their ass, so while they’re pretty damn happy to have us on their side, they’re also pretty damn wary.” He shrugged. “So are we. We just met, and trust comes slow.”

“Neither of us wants to fuck on the first date, sir.”

Zoroiwchak laughed. “Damn blunt way of putting it, Colonel.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Anyway,” the General chuckled. “The point I’m getting at is that, while we understand why they are being slow to trust, we can’t afford to stand around with our dicks in our hand, either. You’ve got a keshmin artificer already seconded to your unit, signed by their Supreme Commander before his Lord Generals started whispering caution and suspicion in his ears.”

Michaels shifted in his seat, not sure if he was going to like where this was going.

“Relax, Henry, we’re not telling you to do anything dastardly. Just a little underhanded.” Anders waved in the direction of the portal. “We’re shipping a load of those crystals and some of the gear you liberated from the elves up to Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory for study. We want you to send your artificer up there to help them out for a day, before he gets told not to.”

“That’s the sort of underhandedness I can live with, sir.”

“Michaels, I knew you when you were enlisted,” Zoroiwchak said. “I remember how underhanded you could be.”

Michaels allowed himself a smile. “I’ll have his Squad Leader bring him right away, sir.”

“Not so fast,” Anders said. “The crystals haven’t even arrived at Berkeley yet. They’re working overtime, but they need time to clear out experiments they had running, and set up their equipment.” He waved a hand. “They’ve told us they’ll be ready by Sunday morning, and that works out for us. We want to be subtle about this, and fewer people around makes that easier.”

“Roger that, sir,” Michaels nodded. “Is there anything else?”

“Yeah, send him through Medical when he gets over here,” Zoroiwchak waved a thumb over his shoulder. “The docs are still figuring out their biology, but they say the basic chemistry and health stuff is the same, or close enough. Make sure he’s all squared away before you send him through the portal. The last thing we need is to have him keel over because he picked up a cold, or to spread some new plague to Southern California.”

“Copy all,” Michaels said, standing up.

“We’ll call you if you need anything else,” Anders said, nodding his head in dismissal.

“Aye, sir,” Michaels said before turning and walking out of the office.

*****

“Ah, home-sweet-home. Again,” Bradford said, stepping out of the Humvee.

“Close enough,” Edison said, hauling his pack out of the seat behind her.

“Le’ahma,” Rinn said, dragging his own pack of the Humvee. Sampson climbed down from the turret seat and followed him out.

“What?” Edison asked, turning around.

“Le’ahma. It’s a contraction of ‘seen and seen again.’” He slung his pack onto his shoulders, managing to stagger only a little this time.

“Huh … We call that déjà vu,” Bradford said, pulling her pack out and slamming the door. “It’s French for ‘already seen.’”

“What is this “French” you speak of? I’ve heard it mentioned several times now.” Rinn walked around the Humvee to join her.

“The French are a bunch of pansy-ass sissies who surrender at the first sign of a fight,” Kawalski said, stomping over to them as the Humvee pulled away.

“France is one of the other nations back on Earth,” Sampson said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the portal that loomed over the base. “They’re one of our allies, and America wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for them, but we’ve pulled their asses out of defeat a few times in the last …” He rolled his eyes up, thinking for a moment. “Century and change.”

“Well, let’s not just stand here with our dicks in our hands,” Bradford said, turning to walk towards their new home-away-from-home, though she didn’t miss the alarmed look on Rinn’s face. “Let’s go find a decent tent before the rest of the battalion steals all the good ones.”

“Still think we should’ve brought our pavilion,” Kawalski grumbled.

“Eh, we would’ve had to give it up eventually, anyway,” Bradford said. “Besides, look on the bright side!”

“What bright side?” Kawalski asked.

“We don’t have to set up the tent city!” She waved at the rows of tents before them. “A bunch of POGs already did that for us!”

“About fucking time they did something useful,” Kawalski said.

As the rest of the squad fell in behind them, Bradford just barely managed to hear Rinn ask Edison, “Do human women have dicks, too?”

Edison burst out laughing, sent into a fit of hysterics so great he couldn’t speak and could barely walk, and leaving the rest of the squad demanding to know what was so funny.

Bradford grinned.

***

“And this is why you never use mechanic-in-a-can products,” Kimber said, holding up a piece of HVAC tubing, and the gunk-covered rag-on-a-stick he had just run through it. He had grease smeared up to his elbows, and streaks of grime on his undershirt. “Gums up everything inside, and half the time doesn’t fix the leak.”

He shook his head, shoving the rag through again. “At least we don’t have to worry about freon types being mixed up. It all leaked out!”

“What is freon? And how does this work?” Rinn asked, sitting across from Kimber and inspecting the disassembled pieces of HVAC unit laid out on a blanket next to where it had been connected to their tent. His ears were perked up and facing forward with keen interest.

“Freon’s a type of refrigerant. It’s a range of different chemicals, actually; some we don’t use anymore.” Kimber worked his rag-on-a-stick through the tubing. “Pretty much anything can be a refrigerant, depending on what you need to cool and how you want to cool it. Water, air, nitrogen. Propane actually works pretty good.” He pulled the rag out of the tubing with a grunt of effort and dunked it in a bucket.

“The refrigerant cycle works, well, one of the best ways my pops explained it is like a rag and a bucket,” he said, waving the tube at the bucket. “Heat’s like water in a bucket, right? So you take your rag, throw it in your bucket, and it soaks up a bunch of water. Then you take it out of the bucket, and squeeze it real hard, to get all the water out. You compress it so there’s no room for water in the rag. Then you throw it back in the bucket, where it expands and soaks up more water.”

He pulled his rag-on-a-stick out of the bucket and wrung out the excess water before shoving it back into the tube. “That’s your basic refrigeration cycle. When you compress gas, the atoms don’t have as much room to move around, so they can’t hold as much heat, which is just energy. When you expand gas, they have a lot more room to move around, so they can hold more heat. So you run expanding gas through a heat-sink on your hot thing to soak up the heat, then you pump it over to another heat-sink where your compressor squeezes until it condenses into a liquid and the heat-sink radiates it away.” He tugged the rag back out of the tube. “Just like moving water out of a bucket, only with heat.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” Gomez asked, sitting next to Rinn and looking over the neatly-arranged machinery. Behind them, Bradford and Dubois sparred, practicing their Marine Corps Martial Arts.

“My pops taught me,” Kimber said, inspecting the tubing before setting it aside and picking up another piece gunked up with leak sealer. “I used to help him in his A/C repair shop. He taught me most of what he knew, and I was supposed to become his partner when I turned eighteen and got my certifications. I was eventually going to take it over as a family business deal.”

“Well, what the hell happened?” Gomez asked. “You sure as fuck ain’t working in no repair shop!”

“My pops died when I was fifteen,” Kimber said, not looking up from the part he was scrubbing. “He’d stopped along the freeway one night to help some kid whose beater of a first car had broken down. Drunk driver swerved across four lanes and hit ‘em. Killed them both.”

“Oh, shit, man, I’m sorry!” Gomez sat back, regret and apology written across his face.

“No worries, man,” Kimber said, inspecting the joint before scrubbing at another part of it. “You didn’t know, and it’s been six, almost seven years.” He set the joint down and picked up another component. “Hey, Miller, pass me some of that CLP.”

Miller grunted, setting down the bolt of his rifle to pass him a bottle.

“Thanks man,” Kimber said, squirting some on a rag before handing it back. Miller nodded.

“Mom had to sell the business,” he continued, using the CLP rag to scrub at the gunk. “And she had to take on a second job to make ends meet, so life got pretty rough for a bit. The high school recruiter spun me a good story, and it was hard to pass up those benefits.” He shrugged “And, well, here I am.”

“I thought the damn liberals made us get rid of freon, because of the ozone or something,” Davies said, wandering into the conversation.

Kimber rolled his eyes. “Freon’s just a brand name that’s used as a blanket term for a bunch of manufactured chemicals. We don’t use chlorofluorocarbons or hydrochlorofluorocarbons anymore, because they do deplete the ozone layer. That’s why CFCs were banned, and HCFCs are being replaced by hydrofluorocarbons, which don’t deplete the ozone layer.”

“What’s the ozone layer?” Rinn asked, cocking his ears, ignoring most of the words he didn’t understand. Gomez looked lost.

“It’s …” Kimber set his latest piece and his cleaning tool down while he thought.

“Ozone is an allotrope of oxygen,” Bradford said, walking over with Dubois. “You know that pungent smell right after lightning strikes?”

“Yeah,” Rinn nodded, looking up at her, his ears split between Bradford and Kimber.

“That’s ozone. It’s mostly formed by UV light from the sun hitting regular oxygen in the air, and when lightning strikes.” She stopped to look over the two arrangements of cleaned and not-cleaned A/C parts. “It mostly collects in a layer in the upper atmosphere, and acts as a shield against UV rays from the sun, which can cause sunburn and skin cancer.” She looked at Kimber. “You going to be able to get this put back together today?”

“Yeah, that’s not going to be a problem. It still won’t provide any cooling without any freon, but I’m pretty sure it only leaked out in the first place because some of the hoses weren’t clamped down right. Heater still works just fine, too.”

“How’re we gonna get freon?” Davies asked. “Isn’t that stuff toxic and require special hazmat certs and regs?”

“Nah, not really,” Kimber shrugged. “I mean, the EPA still regulates it, because HFCs are still greenhouse gases, but the stuff this thing’s supposed to use is not really toxic. It’s heavier than air, so it displaces oxygen in your lungs, and you’ll suffocate and die if you breathe too much of it in, but it’s not toxic unless you get it super hot.”

“So we’d be fine if we stood on our heads?” Gomez asked.

“Yeah,” Kimber snorted, then started chuckling. “My pops got me good with that, once.” He grinned. “Walked into the shop and found him standing on his head, up against a wall. I said, “Pops! What are you doing?!” and he said the big A/C unit he was working on had started leaking refrigerant. I asked him if it was still leaking, and he said ‘Yup.” Kimber started tilting his head and body to the side. “So I was like, “Uh … shit.” And I joined him!” He giggled. “He had us up on the wall for twenty minutes, before mom came in and yelled at us both!”

His laugh slowed to a chuckle. “Ah, shit … that was … That was about two weeks before he died.” He shook his head. “He was always doing shit like that.”

“Potato incoming,” Kawalski said, walking around the corner of the tent. He side-stepped around Davies, giving the other Marine a wide berth.

“Corporal Davies!” Khatri stomped around the tent.

“Yes, First Sergeant!” Davies turned to face Khatri, straightening to attention.

Khatri stopped in front of him, giving him a disgusted look up and down. “I understand that you’ve been on lim’ted duty and facing medical separation for the last month-and-a-half, but that does not excuse you from the fitness standards! Startin’ now, you are on half rations until you feel so inclined as to bring your weight into compliance with Marine Corps regulations!”

“Aye, First Sergeant!” Davies replied, not quite keeping a flash of anger out of his eyes.

Kimber snickered, looking away, as he scrubbed at a piece of the compressor.

“Corporal Kimber!” Khatri shouted, immediately stepping around Davies at the noise. “Is there somethin’ you find funny!? Do you happen to shareCorporal Davies’ lack of respect for the standards and regulations of my beloved Corps?”

“No, First Sergeant!” Kimber said, emptying his hands and jumping at attention.

“Then why in the fuck is your goddamn shirttails untucked?!?!” Khatri whirled on Miller. “And you, Lance Corporal Miller! Your mustache hairs are growin’ beyond the corners of your mouth! It is unsightly! Unsanitary! And most important, in violation of the groomin’ standard!”

He turned to Bradford. “Sergeant Bradford! Your squad is startin’ to look like a bunch of elvises! They have until oh-dark-hundred to unfuck themselves!”

“Aye, First Sergeant!” Bradford said. “I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.”

“See that you do,” Khatri nodded. “In addition, Sergeant, you are to personally escort your new diversity hire to Medical immediately. Until he has received a proper medical screenin’, in accordance with regulation, he is a walkin’ health hazard both to himself, and to this entirecamp! Is that understood, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Yes, First Sergeant!”

“Get your squad squared away, Sergeant! Carry on.”

“Aye, First Sergeant!” Bradford said, continuing to brace at attention until Khatri had marched off to the next tent to harass First Squad.

“Fucking dickhead …” Dubois muttered.

“No, he’s just doing his job, Dubois,” Bradford sighed. “I know what he’s doing. He’s being an extra dick about it, but it’s still his job.”

“And how is chewing us out over stupid bullshit the day after we saved half the goddamn battalion his job?” Kimber asked, picking up the compressor part he was scrubbing.

Bradford looked at Kimber, considering. I’m not sure it’ll still be effective if I tell them what he’s doing … “The First Sergeant has his reasons.” She paused, glancing around. “He is still a fucking dick about it, though.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just, keep your shirt tucked in, Kimber, and Miller, I didtell you that mustache was stretching regulations. Get it shaved properly.” She looked at Davies for a moment. “Davies … You could probably stand to do a lap or two around the battalion camp site.”

Davies grumbled, but didn’t protest as he turned and stepped into the tent.

Bradford rolled her eyes after him. “C’mon, Ahyat. Let’s get you to Medical. Dubois, you’re in charge while I’m gone.”

***

“Is this really necessary?” Rinn asked, looking at Bradford.

“Is this really necessary?” Bradford repeated, looking at the hospital corpsman who was conducting Rinn’s physical.

“Yes, it is,” HM2 Eckels replied. “I understand that it might be awkward and uncomfortable, but this is a first-time physical. A full examination is required.”

Bradford looked at Rinn with a shrug. “Sorry, Shields. We all went through this when we first processed in. It’s just a basic examination.”

“We have a screen here for privacy,” Eckels said. “And it is strictly a visual examination, no touching.”

Rinn whined softly, tugging at an ear. “Fine,” he sighed, stepping behind the screen Eckels indicated.

“I’ll be right here,” Bradford said, sitting down on a stool and facing away from the curtain.

Rinn’s ears flicked through a pattern she wished she understood as he stepped behind the curtain.

Well, this has been a fun trip, Bradford thought as she listened to Eckels direct Rinn to take off his blouse and trousers and undershirt. Of course, they sent most of the corspmen who were in range of that translation spell was set off over to FOB Williams to help with the keshmin injured. That actually makes sense. She snorted. Just our luck that it would only leave four who can understand the Ganlin language here, all of them female.

Bradford glanced over her shoulder at the curtain when she half-heard a comment from Eckels about something being on backwards. What could he … Oh … Bradford suppressed a laugh with a snort, and turned back to contemplate the large tent that comprised part of Tolkien’s field hospital instead of picturing a fuzzy tail poking out of the front side of a pair of undershorts. Larger, more permanent facilities were already under construction, but those things take time.

“Alright, very good. Now I need you to drop your underwear, and bend over, facing away from me.”

“Wot?!” Rinn yipped. He coughed. “I beg your pardon?”

“Getting a little frisky in there, Doc?” Bradford couldn’t help herself.

“Sergeant, you’re not helping.”

“I’m not … Fine!” Rinn yipped. “I’m mostly naked already.” Bradford heard the sound of cloth being tugged over fur. “Is this what you wanted to see?!” Rinn’s voice came from near the ground.

“That is … Yes, that is sufficient.” Eckels said, apparently not needing a translation to understand Rinn’s meaning. “You can put your pants back on, now,” he said a moment later.

“May I keep them on?” Rinn asked as Bradford heard the sound of more fabric and a belt buckle.

“May he keep them on?” Bradford asked, dutifully filling her role as translator.

“Yes, but leave the shirt off. We still have to do a blood draw.”

The curtain was shoved aside as a shirtless Rinn stomped through, his blouse and undershirt tucked under one arm while he fiddled with his belt buckle.

Without thinking, Bradford gave him a wolf whistle.

Rinn froze, and looked over at her. “What kind of noise was that!?”

“What, a whistle?” She whistled a few notes.

“How are you doing that?!” Rinn cocked his head, one ear swiveling to lock onto her.

“Wait, keshmin can’t whistle?”

“No! I’ve never seen or heard anyone do that before.” He pursed his lips, trying to mimic the motions of Bradford’s mouth, but achieved nothing more than a blowing sound.

“I’m sure the Second Artificer appreciates the distraction, Sergeant, but perhaps next time you could be a bit more professional?” Eckels admonished.

Rinn cocked his head in the other direction, giving her a questioning flick of an ear. Bradford just smiled and gave him a wink. No need to tell him the meaning of that particular tune … Still, Doc’s right. That was unprofessional.

Eckels rolled his eyes, running a hand over his balding head. “If you would have a seat, please.” He gestured at a chair next to a table. Another corpsman had laid out some vials and an IV needle there earlier.

With a suspicious glance at Bradford, Rinn carefully settled into the chair, adjusting how his tail fit through his field-modified trousers. “What did you say about a blood draw?” Bradford repeated the question.

Eckels put on a pair of nitrile gloves. “We have to draw some blood for testing. Normally we’d check things like cholesterol levels, blood type, and check for various diseases, but we don’t exactly have a baseline to compare you to.” He pulled out an elastic band. “Set your arm on the table, please.”

“What all can you do with someone’s blood?” Rinn asked as he complied. Eckels tied the band around his upper arm as Bradford translated the question.

“There’s a lot we can determine,” Eckels said, tearing open an alcohol wipe and rubbing the inside corner of Rinn’s elbow. His fur was thinner there, in the crook of the joint. Huh. His skin’s the same color as his fur. Rinn watched him, ears quirked in curiosity. “We can identify most illnesses, and a number of other health factors, including compatibility for blood transfusions.”

“Blood transfusions?” Rinn looked up at Eckels, then Bradford.

“If someone bleeds out, they die, right?” Bradford asked. Rinn nodded. “Giving them a blood transfusion from someone who isn’t bleeding out can help keep them alive until the wound is patched up.”

“I don’t know if it’s the same for keshmin, but not all humans can take a blood donation from just any other humans,” Eckels said, picking up on the thread of the conversation. “If the donor blood isn’t of a compatible blood type, the immune system of the person receiving the blood attacks it, and it can kill them.”

He picked up the needle. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a double sample,” he nodded at the two sets of vials. “So we can run some additional tests. It’ll help us establish a keshmin baseline, so we can more properly diagnose and treat keshmin patients. It’ll help us identify things like keshmin blood type, if you even have any.”

Rinn looked at Bradford, and she gave him a nod. He flicked an ear. “Very well.”

“Go ahead,” Bradford told Eckels.

“Slight prick,” the corpsman said, and stuck the needle into Rinn’s arm. Rinn only flinched slightly, and watched as he removed the elastic band with one hand, still holding the IV needle with the other. Eckels took a vial and plugged it into the needle, and it began to fill with dark red blood.

Rinn quickly looked away, his ears flicking back against his head. Turning, he locked eyes with Bradford. “What are the gloves and alcohol for?”

“Sanitation,” Bradford said. “To minimize the spread of disease. The alcohol kills most germs and bacteria, and the gloves help prevent them from being spread through contact.”

Rinn tilted his head as Eckels swapped vials. “What are … bak-tera?” he said, struggling a little with the human word.

Eckels raised an eyebrow. “Do your people have Germ Theory?”

Rinn flicked an ear in his direction. “I don’t know what that is.”

“What do you think causes disease?” Bradford asked.

Rinn frowned. “I am not a medical artificer, but we are all given training in basic medical treatment. Disease can be caused by a number of things, from miasmas to infestation of parasites, all of which cause a disruption in the balance of the seven humors.”

“Miasmas and humors, huh?” Bradford raised an eyebrow.

“Good lord, they’re in the fucking dark ages …” Eckels said, swapping in his last vial.

“Dark ages?!” Rinn yipped, giving the corpsman a glare. “We might not know all of the secrets that you do, but I assure you, Ganlin was the height of knowledge and discovery before the elves invaded!”

“Calm down, calm down!” Eckels said, pulling the last vial. “I didn’t mean to cause offense!” He picked up a gauze pad and pressed it to Rinn’s arm while pulling the needle out with practiced ease. “Hold this here,” he said, dropping the needle in a biohazard waste bin. Rinn complied, and a moment later the pad was held to his arm by a band of stretchy, sticky gauze.

That’s going to hurt when it comes off later … Bradford thought.

“Where to next?” Bradford asked as Rinn stood up and began putting his shirt and blouse back on.

“Audiology and optometry,” Eckels said, glancing over his shoulder “But first, speaking of bacteria.” Another corpsman was approaching, carrying a syringe. “I’m going to need you to step behind the curtain again and bend over.”

“I thought we already went through this …” Rinn said, eyeing the approaching corpsman and the syringe she was carrying nervously.

“This is to prevent disease,” he said before Bradford could translate, taking the needle with a “Thank you” and a nod. “Fortunately for you, viruses tend to be very species-specific, and since your DNA is probably completely different from ours, no Earth virus is likely to be able to do anything to you, and vice-versa.” He held up the syringe. “This is a bicillin vaccination. It’s a slow-release antibiotic that should take care of any bacterial diseases you’re carrying or might pick up.” He waved Rinn towards the curtain.

Rinn didn’t move.

“Look, we can either do this behind the curtain, or we can do this right here. Your choice.”

“I suddenly don’t feel comfortable behind the curtain.”

Bradford chuckled. “He doesn’t like the curtain anymore.”

Eckels shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He gestured at the table, tearing open another alcohol wipe. “Face the table, and pick a cheek.”

“What?” Rinn’s look of confusion was universal.

“This is going in your ass. Pick a cheek and drop your pants.”

“Wot?!” Rinn’s ears shot up in alarm. He glanced at Bradford. “I f- I think I want to go behind the curtain.”

“He wants the curtain now, Doc.”

“Nope, too late. You had your chance. Drop your pants and turn around.”

Bradford rolled her eyes and turned away as Rinn gave her a pleading glance, pointedly looking in the opposite direction.

She heard Rinn’s belt.

“I don’t need them all the way down, just one side.”

“Is that far enough?”

“That’s far enough. Lean forward and place your other hand on the table.”

Bradford peaked around just in time to see Eckels stick the syringe into Rinn’s exposed, furry butt cheek, and depress the plunger. Rinn yelped, his tail going straight out behind him as he tensed up. Bradford winced in sympathy, remembering her own peanut butter shot.

She turned back around as Eckels pulled the needle out. Rinn gave a soft whine.

“There,” Eckels said. “All done. You can pull your pants back up.”

Bradford waited until she heard Rinn’s belt again before turning back around. Rinn was staring at her with an expression she wasn’t sure how to read.

“Make sure you massage that, so it doesn’t stay a single lump in the muscle. Walking and exercise help, too.” Eckels marked a note down in Rinn’s medical file. “Other than that, you’re all set for optometry and audiology. They’re sharing a tent right now, third tent in that direction,” he waved in the general direction of a wall while handing Rinn the file. “And make sure you bring this back here, when you’re done. Doctor Jenkins will need to review it.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Jabs said, setting a hand on Rinn’s shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze. “C’mon, Rinn. We’ll talk more about bacteria on the way.”

He nodded, and stifled a whine as he hobbled out of the tent with her.

***

“So, your eyes aren’t quite as good as ours, but you can see the same colors we do, and your hearing’s better,” Bradford said as they walked out of the optometry/audiology tent.

“I don’t know how you can hear anything with those tiny flaps on the side of your head,” Rinn said, waggling his ears at her.

Bradford laughed, glancing at his ears. She wanted to grab one and tug on it, but she resisted the urge and gave him a friendly shove, instead. “I wonder how your night vision compares to ours. We don’t normally test for that.”

Rinn shrugged his ears. “You humans seem to have a test for everything.”

“Yeah, we do, don’t we?” Bradford rolled her shoulders. “It’s just science, I guess.”

“Ssaye-ance …” Rinn sounded out. “What is sy-ance?”

“Science is …” she scratched her head. “Well, you know all of the cool stuff we’ve been able to do? All the stuff that we can do that is more advanced than poking someone with a sharp stick?” Rinn nodded. “That’s all based on science.”

“So, it’s like mana? Science is what powers all of your artifices?”

Bradford laughed. “Oh, man, no … If only it worked that way, though!” She shook her head. “No, science is a method. Specifically, The Scientific Method. It’s a process tool, a methodology, for determining how the universe and everything in it works.” She waved a hand at the sky above them, encompassing the portal and the skies of two worlds.

“The basic process is like this, right? You come up with a question. Why is the sky blue?”

“It is the color of the box Hephrata uses to cover the heavens each day so he might surprise his wife, Kaiyati, anew each night.” Rinn waved a hand in an arc over the sky.

Bradford gave Rinn a sidelong glance.

He grinned, giving her a mischievous wiggle of his ears. “Or so say the legends of the gods.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t so sure they weren’t anything more than fanciful tales before you arrived. Now …” he waved an arm at the camp about them.

God, I want to scritch those ears … But, no, that would be too familiar. “Anyway,” she said. “You ask your question, then you formulate a hypothesis: ‘The blue sky is a box covering the heavens.’” She winked at him.

“Are your eyes broken?” he asked.

“What?” she asked, looking over her shoulder as she ducked into the examination tent, nearly running into a corpsman on his way out.

“Jesus, watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry!” Bradford said, but he was already stalking off, muttering under his breath.

“Fucking Jarheads …”

“Meh, whatever, jackass,” Bradford rolled her eyes and continued into the tent. “Anyway, what were you saying?”

“Are your eyes broken? You’ve only shut one of them twice now.”

“Yeah, that’s called a wink. Can’t you wink?” She turned back to him, closing one eye, and then the other, alternating back and forth at an increasing rate.

“Gah! Stop that!” Rinn recoiled, holding up a hand to block the view of her face.

Bradford laughed. “Hey, we don’t have ears to wiggle around like signal flags, so we gotta use our eyes.” She gave him a big, slow wink. “You should try it some time.”

“Maybe some other time,” he said, cocking both ears to the side.

“C’mon,” she said. “Let’s drop off your medical record and see if the Doctor has anything else to say. I wanna get back before Davies has the opportunity to stir up too much shit.”

They walked over to the admin table, and were immediately directed to another table-turned-desk in the far corner of the tent. “Doctor Jenkins is waiting for you.”

“So, the hypothesis?” Rinn asked as they walked away from the table.

“Hm? Right!” Bradford scratched her head for a moment. “So, after you formulate your hypothesis, you come up with a prediction based on that hypothesis. ‘If the blue sky is a box, then you would see this thing, or effect, or whatever.’” She waved at the air before them. “It is very important that the prediction be something that is falsifiable. Something that can be proved to be false. Otherwise, it’s a useless prediction, because you can’t test it.”

“And this is where all of your testing comes in?”

“Yes! Exactly! Once you have your prediction, you test it. ‘If the blue sky is a box, then I wouldn’t be able to see anything through it. So, I’ll look really closely at the blue sky to see if I can see anything that I can see when the sky isn’t blue.’”

“Teaching a science class, Sergeant?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Bradford braced at attention before Commander Jenkins’ desk, and Rinn followed suite. “Sergeant Bradford and Second Artificer Ahyat, reporting as requested, ma’am!”

“As you were, Sergeant, Second Artificer. Have a seat.” Jenkins waved at a set of chairs in front of her table-desk. “May I?” she asked, indicating Rinn’s medical file as they sat down. Rinn passed it over. “Thank you.”

Jenkins absently frowned as she flipped open the folder and skimmed through it, enhancing her naturally severe look. She looks like a middle-aged Mrs. McGonagall … Is it just resting-bitch-face or is she as severe as she looks?

“Let’s see. Five-foot, eight inches. A hundred and sixteen pounds.”

Damn, he’s forty pounds lighter than I am! Maybe he’s just underfed …

Jenkins glanced Rinn up and down. “Are you large or small for a keshmin? Or about average?”

“Slightly taller than average, ma’am.”

She nodded, making a note in his file. “Blood work will probably take a couple weeks; we’ll be sure to notify you of anything … Well, normally I’d say out of the ordinary, but …” She shrugged.

Rinn nodded. “I understand, ma’am.”

“Hmm …” She pursed her lips. “We don’t have X-Ray facilities here, and I’d really like an MRI.” She paused, setting down his medical file. “An MRI scan would be very useful for us in establishing what your baseline is right now. You seem to be healthy, if a bit under-nourished, and having that baseline would help us spot problems should you need an MRI in the future. But I must be completely honest with you, Second Artificer. There is an interest in having x-rays and MRIs of a keshmin that go beyond your own personal health, and beyond even the health of other keshmin.” She sighed.

Damn, I thought she was already frowning.

“Most of that interest is scientific curiosity, and good-intentioned, but it would be lying, and against the ethical codes that I am bound to, to deny that some of that interest is also vested in identifying what kind of threat your people might be, and if you are, how we might deal with that threat. Normally, the laws governing medical privacy would be sufficient if you were not comfortable with sharing those scans, but these are not normal circumstances and as much as it pains me to say, those rules might not be held sacrosanct.”

Rinn sat back, his ears forward, giving Jenkins his full attention.

Damn, that was brutally honest …

“What is an ‘em-arr-aye?’”

“Magnetic Resonance Imaging.” She waved at some of the images hanging behind her. “It uses magnetic fields and radio waves to conduct detailed scans inside your body. It allows us to see inside someone, with remarkable detail, without having to cut into them or cause any harm.”

Rinn’s ears flicked up and back, mimicking his horns. “I am a combat artificer, my training is about as opposite to the medical arts as can be, but even I can understand how powerful such a healing tool would be. There are some healing artifices that can detect injuries within the body, but not to such detail.” He reached up and tugged on a horn in thought. “Your people have done nothing but help mine.”

“Don’t rely on that,” Jenkins interjected. “Our history with situations like this …” She scowled. “Is not pleasant. I would like to think that we are better than our ancestors, that we have overcome the worst barbarisms, but …” She sighed. “Don’t rely on it.”

“Still, you helped us. You continue to help us. More than we might be able to repay.” He snorted. “Besides, I have no doubt that the King and his Lords and their Noble Houses are already scheming and conspiring to connive advantage out of you as much as you might be for us.” He shook his head. “Great as the Kingdom of Ganlin was before the war, the lords who run it are no saints.”

He gave his horn one last tug, then straightened. “I’d like an MRI. It sounds like it might help a lot of my people, and …” He shrugged. “Trust has to start somewhere.”

“Very well,” Jenkins nodded. She reached for a prescription pad, scribbled something on it, and handed it to Rinn. “I’ll make some calls,” She glanced at Bradford, “And inform your Battalion Commander. I want you at the Naval Hospital in Pendleton first thing tomorrow, for a full set of X-Rays and MRIs.” She paused, giving Rinn another glance up and down, her nose twitching. “On second thought … Sergeant, make sure you take him somewhere that he can get properly cleaned up beforeyou take him to the hospital. Be there by ten hundred.”

“Aye, ma’am!”

“Drop this off with HM3 Shelby on your way out,” she said, handing Rinn his medical file back as he and Bradford stood up. “He’ll make sure it’s properly filed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rinn replied.

“Dismissed.”

“Ma’am!” Bradford said, bracing at attention with Rinn before turning about. They walked out of the tent, stopping only to drop off Rinn’s medical file.

They had walked thirty feet out of the tent when Rinn stopped and turned to face the portal. “That’s through there.”

“Yep! Camp Pendleton is one of the largest Marine Corps bases in the country. The Naval Hospital is in Pendleton South, about forty, forty-five minutes from the portal.”

“Minutes …” He shook his head. “You use time like distance. How far?”

“Eh … Twenty miles? Give or take.” She frowned. “Sorry, Imperial Miles. The US still uses the Imperial system of measurement, but we use the metric system in the Marines, and it gets confusing sometimes.” She rolled her eyes, doing some quick math in her head. “So, about thirty-two kilometers, which is about, what, sixteen Royal Miles?”

Rinn shook his head, giving her his “I don’t believe you” ear-flick. “You travel that far in forty minutes, as if it were nothing?”

“Yeah.” Bradford snorted. “In fact, it’d be faster, if it weren’t for traffic.”

Rinn turned, looking through the portal again. “What wonders might I see …”

“I’m sure we could show you a few.” She threw an arm around his shoulders, steering him back towards the battalion camp and just managing to keep herself from giving his ears a scratch. “C’mon, let’s go find some chow and tell the rest of the squad. I doubt I’ll be able to keep them from finding some way to tag along.”

“Above and below, it’s past noon already?” Rinn glanced up at the sky as his stomach rumbled.

“Definitely chow time,” Bradford laughed, giving him a shove as they headed home.

“You’re sure the First Sergeant said that?” Dubois asked, standing outside the tent with the rest of the squad, waiting for Kawalski and Gomez to show up with a van.

“Well, there was a lot more Tennessee twang and anger, of course,” Bradford said, squinting into the sun cresting the California mountains, just visible inside the edge of the portal. Ghala’s star was just barely obscured.

“How can a Buddhist be so angry?” Kimber asked.

“Khatri’s not Buddhist, he’s like, Hindu, brah!”

“Meh, same thing.”

“Not really …” Sampson rolled his eyes.

“I thought Hinduism taught peace and calm and karma and all that bullshit,” Dubois said.

“I don’t think he’s a very firmly practicing Hindu,” Bradford said. “Hinduism and Buddhism are major religions back on Earth, though they’re not common in our part of the world,” she added when Rinn opened his mouth. He closed it again with a flick of his ears.

“I still have a hard time believing that First Sergeant Khatri said we could leave a combat zone, and go back to the barracks to pick up personal items,” Dubois said.

“Maybe he’s more of a practicing Hindu than you thought,” Davies said.

Further conversation was interrupted by the rapid honking of a horn as a government transit van rolled around the corner. “Someone call an Uber?” Gomez asked, hanging out the passenger side window.

“Hey, so I only got room for ten, including me, and First Sergeant gave me the seat belt lecture,” Kawalski said as the side doors opened and Marines started piling in. “You know he’s going to be checking when we come back, if he’s not at the gate on the way out.”

“With Doc and Ahyat, that leaves an odd-man out,” Bradford frowned.

“You know what, you guys go on without me,” Davies said, magnanimously waving them away. “I already got my seabag full of crap, I don’t need to go back and get anything.” He jerked a thumb back at the tent. “I’ll stay here and hold down the fort.”

“Thanks, Davies,” Dubois said, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he piled in after Olanrewaju.

“You, like, want anything from the MCX, brah?”

“Nah, man, I’m good. I stocked up before I came out here.”

“Righteous, brah,” Stephens said, giving him a high-five.

“Later, Davies,” Bradford said, giving him a nod. She turned to Rinn and the van.

“Uh-uh, Kimber, get your ass in the back,” Kawalski shouted. “Jabs and Shields ain’t gonna cram in with all you sweaty fucks back there, they get the front bench seat.”

“Fine,” Kimber said, rolling his eyes. “Make a hole!” he shouted, and crawled straight over the back of the seat, shoving himself in until he had displaced enough Marine to find a seat.

Bradford shook her head, and looked at Rinn. “After you,” she said, waving a hand at the van.

Rinn hopped into the van and slid all the way over to make room for her, shifting around to find a way to sit without crushing his tail. He slipped it into the gap between the seat and the wall of the van, and immediately jerked it back out again when Edison said, “Oooh, what’s this?” He ended up curling his tail in his lap.

Chuckling, Bradford hopped in after him, slamming the door behind her.

“Thank fucking god he bought that,” Kawalski said as they pulled away from Davies and the tent. “I practically had to suck an officer’s dick to get a van with exactly ten seats.”

“He probably thinks he’s winning brownie points and showing self-sacrificing leadership by volunteering to stay behind,” Dubois said.

“Yeah, well, either way, now we can actually do shit without having to worry about the fucking narc,” Kawalski growled, turning them onto one of the main roads through the base.

“Fuck, yeah!” Gomez said. “Where to first?”

“The barracks,” Bradford said. “We need to get cleaned up before going to Medical.”

“And after Medical?” Gomez asked.

“After Medical,” Kawalski grinned, “We’re takin’ Rinn downtown.”

Bradford considered whether or not to allow this as the rest of the van exploded into cheers. She was a Sergeant now. She needed to exercise more maturity and responsibility … But … First Sergeant Khatri’s not an idiot. He knowingly gave a squad of Marines a van and an excuse to be gone for the day. Fuck it.

“Kawalski!” She shouted over the din.

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“Drive!”

“Aye, Sergeant!”

And they were off. To the portal.

To Earth.

Episode 7.5

Tyriel awoke well into the next morning. Not daring to venture out in the light of day, he sheltered in the trees for a time, regaining strength.

The trees were alien to him. They were of no species known to Gahla, and completely wild. I’m not sure if they can even sense me... He shrugged. In time, they will.

When darkness fell, he slipped past the human patrols and moved away from the portal. Lights illuminated the horizon to the south and west, signs of heavy population. He was not ready to venture into human population centers.

A great highway bounded him to the east. Carriages rampaged up and down it even in the dead of night. The bridge across was too open and illuminated, and patrolled by human soldiers.

Slipping into trees and scrubland, he began wending his way North, seeking more isolated regions. To conserve mana, he avoided dwellings and clusters of habitation, and blended through the shadows only when he couldn’t.

As dawn neared, he crossed into low mountains to the North. Sheltering in another grove of trees, he rested and awaited darkness once more. I must take no chances.

He continued the next evening, winding his way through the mountains, skirting past clusters of homes, sometimes following roads, sometimes slipping across country. He stopped periodically as he moved further from the portal, to measure the ambient mana levels. To his relief, he found that ethereal mana was in as much abundance in this world as it was on Gahla. If there is any difference, I lack the artefacts necessary to detect it.

As dawn approached, he doubled back south, climbing a ridge to gain an elevated view point. Cresting the peak, he found what he was looking for.

A house. Isolated. Alone.

It would have been considered a manor by the standards of the keshmin, and was large even for what Tyriel was used to in the homeland. We are rarely afforded such space. A carriage sat on a paved lot in front of two doors sized for it, attached to the house like a small stable. Is their stable full, or is this carriage left ready to depart?

He crept up to the edge of the small field that surrounded the house. Two small structures stood in the yard of what was clearly the back of the house. One was made of wood, with several climbing bars, two swing seats, and a larger platform with a slide. The smaller structure was made of an unfamiliar, multi-colored material, and resembled a miniature house.

As he crept through the scrub and small trees at the border of the yard, something inside barked. Tyriel froze, blending into the trees. The sun was up, but he had seen no sign of activity in the manor until now. Another bark. Whatever creature is making the noise is not small. He heard several more barks, moving through the house.

That sound carries … But not far enough.Maintaining his blending, he slipped into the yard and crept up to cover behind the miniature house. Lights were coming on inside the manor now, and the barking continued. Perhaps this creature was trained to wake its masters with the dawn?

The barking moved to the rear of the house. Curtains moved inside, and a glass door slid open. A pale gold-colored animal surged out, practically dragging the human man who held it on a leash with it. The man wore loose, baggy pants and a light shirt underneath a soft robe that hung open, its sash left undone. His brown hair was askew, and he looked barely conscious.

“Wurf!” the creature barked. “Wurf-wurf-wurf!”

It looks like a stocky, primitive keshmin, he mused. It’s just missing the horns, and the ears and snout are wrong.

“C’mon, Lyla, you’re not going after squirrels today,” the man said, struggling to reign in the animal. “Settle down and do your business. It’s too damn early for this.”

“Wurf-wurf-wurf!” The creature strained on its master’s leash, looking straight at Tyriel.

It knows I’m here.

Tyriel stood up.

The creature lowered its head and growled; hackles raised.

The man looked at his animal, sleep fading rapidly. “What’s got-“ Tyriel released his blend. “Oh shit!”

They were the human’s last words. With the pulsing shriek of discharging mana, Tyriel shot a shardburst from his staff into the human’s chest, knocking him to the ground in a spray of blood.

Its leash suddenly released, the creature charged forward. “Rowr-rowr-rowr-rowr!” Another shardburst cut it short with a yelp, the creature’s lifeless body tumbling to the ground.

“Dad?” he heard a voice call from inside.

Tyriel slipped to the open door and stepped inside. He came almost face-to-face with another human. Short, lanky, with a mop of sandy hair. A young male. The child only had enough time to give him a confused look before he lowered his staff and put a pulse of raw mana into his chest. Less than a foot from the mana gem on the crest of his staff, the pulse punched clean through the youth’s chest, spraying blood, bone, and bits of lungs across the carpeted room.

There was an anguished scream from across the room as the boy crumpled to the floor. Tyriel turned to look. The mother. She stood at the foot of a staircase, staring in horror at her son’s corpse.

“Mommy?” he heard another voice call.

“Sarah, RUN!!!” the woman shrieked, turning and bolting up the stairs.

Tyriel drew his sword, the mana gem on the pommel glowing as he sent a pulse of energy into it, igniting the blade in orange mana. He followed.

Rounding a corner at the top of the stairs, he was met with a shriek of agonized rage. The woman charged at him, swinging a metal club. He casually deflected it with a shield pulse from his staff, the club bouncing off with a loud ping. Lifting the point of his glowing blade, he ran her through. Her momentum carried her to the hilt. The scent of searing flesh filled his nostrils.

He met her gaze. Her sky-blue eyes were filled with terror, anguish, rage, and despair. Such a powerful mix of emotions, he thought as he twisted the blade. She choked, her mouth moving wordlessly as she dropped the club. He flicked his blade sideways, cutting her heart in two as his sword sliced out of her chest. Her blonde hair fanning out, she fell to the ground, twitching her last as Tyriel stepped over her.

The elf stalked forward.

The door to his left was ajar. Pushing it open, he saw a large bed, unmade. A chest of drawers lined with pictures and oddities. A vanity. The parents’ room, he thought. Pulling the door shut, he continued.

The next door on his right was open. This room was tiled, instead of the carpet that covered the rest of the floors. It contained what was clearly a bathtub, built into one wall, and bowl with a seat and a lid. The bath and privy, on the second floor. They must have at least basic indoor plumbing.

With no places to hide in the privy room, Tyriel left the door open.

The next door on the right was a linen closet.

The floor creaked beneath his feet as he calmly walked down the hall, the only sound in the house.

The last door on the right was also ajar. It had a single bed, also unmade, and a desk and dresser covered with more oddities. Toys and strange devices were scattered about the room, along with several items of clothing that looked about the right size for the boy.

Drawing the door shut, Tyriel turned to the last door on the left. This one was shut. A sheet of paper was tacked to the door, covered in a multi-colored wax drawing. It looked like there were crude words, as well, but he couldn’t read them.

Leaning his staff against the wall, Tyriel tried to open the door. It was locked.

He placed the point of his sword against the door, next to the frame and even with the handle. Increasing the trickle of energy into the blade, he pressed it forward, letting the halo of charged mana do most of the work.

Slowly, the blade slipped into the door, flames spitting and flaring as the wood charred and ignited.

Once his sword had plunged half-way into the door, he withdrew it and picked up his staff. With a flick, he snuffed out the flames, then kicked the door open.

It banged against the wall, and he stepped into the room. This one contained another bed, also unmade, a dresser, small vanity, a chest, and an assortment of toys and other childish sundries.

He stepped around the bed, quietly scanning the room. It was empty.

His ears twitched. A hint of noise.

He tilted his head to angle them better. A faint snuffling.

He turned to a set of white, slatted doors. In there. Another closet.

Stepping over to the doors, he extinguished the mana charge on his blade and used the tip slowly drag the double-hinged doors open.

There she is.

Huddled against the back of the closet, holding a stuffed animal to her chest, sat a little girl. Her dusty locks were darker than her mother’s, but she had the same sky-blue eyes. Sniffing, she looked up at him with her sad, fearful eyes, clutching the stuffed animal tighter.

Staring into those pale, blue orbs, Tyriel was struck with a bout of mercy. She is too innocent for pain.

He lowered his staff and sent a raw mana blast into her head, spraying blood and brains across the closet.

Sheathing his sword, he turned away.

Tyriel walked back outside and collected the body of the father, dragging him back inside, shutting and locking the sliding door behind him. Emperor’s bones, they’re heavy, he thought as he struggled to drag the man’s body up the stairs. Do they eat rocks?!

An exhaustive struggle later, Tyriel managed to drag all of the bodies into the last room at the end of the hall, piling them all into the closet. The slatted doors wouldn’t shut any more, it wasn’t that large of a closet, but at least the bodies were all out of sight, and out of his way. He shut the broken door on his way out.

Downstairs, in the first room he entered, there was a set of couches and chairs arranged around a strange, flat panel. Obviously of some importance, Tyriel spent twenty minutes investigating it before he found a rectangular artifact covered in buttons sitting next to a large, reclining chair.

There are symbols on this artifact that match the large panel device … He examined it more closely. Hmm … One end has a smooth, dark-colored material embedded in it, and it is curved to fit with that end pointing away from you … He shrugged, and began methodically pressing buttons.

The second button caused the device to flair to life. Light and noise filled the room as moving pictures appeared on the panel. A few more experiments with the controlling artefact, and he discovered the device could be tuned to pick up different streams.

This is perfect, he thought. Far better than I could have hoped. He flicked from stream to stream, and began to learn.

Episode 8

Rinn watched out the window as the van bounced along rough-made roads through the portal, looking at the human defensive line. Berms, barricades, coils of wire, expanding earthworks, entrenched weapon emplacements … all set up across an open killing field, backed by towers and elevated firing positions … Charging those fortifications would be suicide.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud, rapid thwacking sound coming from the front of the van. Leaning around Kawalski’s chair, Rinn saw that the abrasive Marine was whipping his hand back and forth so that his finger was smacking a small, round tin. Fascinated, he watched as Kawalski opened the tin to reveal brown, shredded something while navigating the rough roads.

Swerving around a barricade, Kawalski pulled a large pinch of the stuff from the tin and stuffed it into his lower lip. Rinn’s ears flicked up. How is that not falling back out?!

“Hey, Kawalski, where did you get that?” Kimber asked.

“Traded for it at the motor pool. Wasn’t going to since we’re going to town, but I only had the one can on me when we moved out, and haven’t had a dip since we got to Tolkien the first fucking time.”

“Care to share the wealth, man?”

“Help yourselves,” he said, passing the can back. Bradford snagged it and passed it over.

“You’re a lifesaver, man,” Kimber said, taking the tin and giving it several thwacks of his own before opening it. “You want some, Shields?” He held it out in offering.

Rinn flicked his ears in curiosity.

“Probably not a good idea,” Bradford pushed the tin back. “Not until we have a better idea of what effect our drugs will have on him, at least.”

“Ehhh … Probly right,” Kimber shrugged, pulling a much smaller pinch to stuff into his lip. The can was quickly passed around.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen!” Kawalski called out in a smooth, clear tone. “I’ll be your tour guide for your Premium, First-Class tour of Planet Earth!” He paused, opening a small bottle with one hand and spitting into it. “Directly above us you’ll see the great and mysterious Portal linking Earth and Gahla! Just ahead of us is the fortified defensive line protecting Earth from the Keebler scum.” He spat into the bottle again. “Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times, and please remain seated until the ride comes to a full and complete stop.” He raised is spitting bottle in salute to more humans wearing different uniforms as they passed through a gated opening in the earthworks.

Jostling past the rows of tents and vehicles behind the wall, Kawalski spun the wheel with one hand, whipping them around a dirt road. Rinn pressed his face to the window to keep himself from smacking into it as the van rattled over the hastily-built roads, looking up at the alien sky above them.

They passed a pile of torn-up and up-rooted trees, and with a final shudder and metallic thunk that made half the van flinch and jerked Rinn’s face off the window, they bounced onto a hard road made of smooth, uninterrupted stone.

Rolling on much a much smoother surface, Kawalski accelerated. They drove past the great white structures that Rinn had seen from the air. Those are buildings! he thought as he tried to peer through the translucent walls, unable to discern what was within. Are those plants inside of them?

Kawalski waved at several more uniformed humans set up at another checkpoint at the end of the road, making a right turn onto a proper highway. “For any foreign visitors in the party, should you get separated from the group, remember: The Way Home is off Exit Forty-Three of the Aye-fifteen, old highway three-ninety-five.”

They cleared a small ridge on their left, and Rinn’s eyes went wide as they accelerated toward a great, stonework bridge that spanned the largest highway he had ever seen. It didn’t look this big from the air!

His reverie was interrupted when the van slowed abruptly, then jerked to the right, throwing Bradford into him and pinning him between her and the window.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Kawalski, where the fuck did you learn to drive?” Bradford snapped, dragging herself back across the seat.

“Helmand Province!” Kawalski replied with a smile. “Gomer! Get us some tunes going.”

“You bet!” Gomez started tapping knobs and bumps on a panel between him and Kawalski as whatever artifice drove the vehicle roared and they began accelerating at an alarming rate.

Rinn jumped as a screeching wail filled the air. He grit his teeth, ears flat against his skull, and clapped his hands to the sides of his head.

“No, not that pussy shit! Put it on one hundred point seven!”

The screech disappeared and was replaced with a chaotic mix of half-words and cut-off sounds.

“-and bird watchers are reporting-“

“-just NINE-NINETY-NI-“

“Oh ha, na-na-na-ah, O-“

“-esters are being kept back from the perim-“

The chaos ended as they swerved onto the great highway at breakneck speeds.

Another vehicle flashed past them to the sound of a man speaking so fast, it sounded like pure gibberish. The van’s artifice howled, and they jerked over, around another vehicle, and accelerated even more in pursuit.

I’m going to die here, he realized as the world streaked by.

“True variety, one hundred point seven,” said a deep, male voice, then music began. A fast, hard-edged string instrument unlike any he had heard before, accompanied by a faint, tinking beat. Rinn lifted his hands from his head, his ears perking up. He could recognize the skill of the musician, if nothing else.

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Kawalski said, the giant wad in his lip in danger of popping out. “Good job, Gomer!”

“Woooo!” somebody shouted behind him.

“Ahh-ahhh-aaahhh-aaahh-ahh,” began faintly in the air, increasing in volume.

“Ahh-ahhh-aaahhh-aaahh-ahh,” joined in half the van on the third round.

“Ahh-ahhh-aaahhh-aaahh-ahh.” The rest of the humans had joined in.

“Ahh-ahhh-aaahhh-aaahh-ahh. Thunder!”

Gomez spun a nob and the volume increased.

“THUNDER!”

The van shimmied and bounced. Carriages flashed by to the right. An enormous, long vehicle rumbled past to the left.

“THUNDER!”

A two-wheeled vehicle rolled up on their left with a deep, thunderous rumble he could hear even over the music.

“I was caught … In the middle of a railroad tra-ack. THUNDER!” the voice sang, with the whole van joining in.

A human sat astride the contraption, holding handlebars that stretched above his head. He wore just leather pants, a vest, a leather wrap on his head, and tinted glasses over his eyes. His bare arms were dyed with a riot of anger and intimidation. Feathered wings were embroidered on the back of his vest.

“I looked around … And knew there was no turning ba-ack. THUNDER!”

Kawalski honked his horn three times in rapid succession and waved his hand at him, his outer fingers up, inner fingers held down by his thumb.

“My mind raced … And I thought what could I do-o. THUNDER!”

The man looked over at Kawalski, the great beard of fur on his chin flapping over his shoulder in the wind. He gave Kawalski a nod, and twisted one of the handlebars. The rumble of his vehicle surged twice, then he roared away.

“And I knew, there was no help, no help from yo-u. THUNDER!”

As the man roared away ahead of them, another two-wheeled vehicle roared by, then another, and another. There’s a whole gods-damned swarm of them!

“Sound of the drums! Beating in my heart.”

He felt a tap on his arm and looked over to see Bradford grinning, holding onto a handle in the ceiling as the van bounced and swayed down the highway.

“Thunder of guns. Tore me apart.”

She leaned over, shouting over the music and the other Marines as the van slowed hard, jerked to the side, and roared ahead. “Welcome to Earth!”

“You’ve been … THUNDERSTRUCK!”

***

“So why aren’t they just putting him on a chopper and flying him straight to the hospital?” Edison asked. Thankfully, the volume had been turned down when, after several songs, the music had been replaced by “commercials.” I’m not sure which is louder … their music, or their weapons …

“Because it’s not an emergency flight, and this is an appointment from Medical, not some high-level directive from General Langstrom.” Bradford shrugged. “Honestly, this whole thing is still such a clusterfuck, I think we just slipped through the cracks.”

“But- you’d think the brass would be all over keeping tabs on him! I mean-“ He stopped when Stephens laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Dude. Like, take your blessings when you get them. When the seas throw you a killer wave, just go with it, brah.”

Sampson snorted. “You know, Stephens, you’re one of the dumbest of us, but also one of the wisest.”

“Dig it, brah.”

Rinn looked out the window. They had turned off the great highway, and onto smaller roads that still put any Royal Highway to shame. They passed row, upon row, upon row of houses, interspersed with small groves of trees, or fields, and many enormous buildings.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Bradford said.

He tore his eyes away from the window, meeting her eyes with a questioning flick of his ears. “How many people live here?”

“Here?” Bradford waved out the window. “This is the Tri-City area. Between Vista, Carlsbad, and Oceanside …” She glanced up, thinking. “Maybe three, four hundred thousand.”

His ears slowly lifted and turned to her in shock. “That’s … almost as many people as live in Gimyai, in the New and Old Cities.”

“Man, greater San Diego County has three-and-a-half million people,” Sampson chimed in.

Rinn flicked his ears back. “How … How many humans are there?”

“Like, in the US, or the whole world?” Edison asked.

“What’s the difference?” Rinn frowned.

The Marines laughed.

“My friend,” Said Olanrewaju. “The United States of America sometimes likes to think it is the world, but I assure you, there are many other nations.”

“Yeah, but we can kick all their asses,” Kawalski said, looking at them through the center mirror.

A clever system, that, Rinn thought. And how casually they use something as expensive as a mirror …

“America is just as dependent upon the rest of the world as the world is on America,” Olanrewaju said.

“Sure,” Kawalski said, spitting into his bottle. “But we could take the rest of the world in a fight. We’ve got the-fucking-most advanced and powerful military in the world. We spend as much on our military as the entire rest of the fucking world, combined!”

“There are about three hundred thirty-five million people in the United States,” Bradford said, cutting off Kawalski and Olanrewaju. “And nearly eight billion people world-wide.”

Rinn felt his jaw slowly drop open as his ears sagged to the side. “H- How are there so many of you?”

“Modern medicine,” Edison said, leaning over the back of his seat. “It lets most kids survive to adulthood, and most adults survive to old age. That, and public sanitation.”

“This is true,” Olanrewaju chimed in, turning away from his window. “In my home country of Nigeria, our history has not been … as fortunate as in America,” he frowned. “Many of the medical wonders they consider to be common place are rare or hard to come by, and much of my country still struggles to find clean drinking water.” He gestured at his uniform. “That is why I came to America and joined the United States Navy. I want to learn to be a doctor, so I can help my people at home.”

Rinn rolled his ears back up from where they had sagged, flicking an ear back as he briefly pondered the notion that the human wonders were not widespread. Does that make them more relatable, with their own problems, or more terrible for neglecting their own people?

“Doc here’s Navy, not a Marine,” Bradford said, misinterpreting his expression. “All Corpsmen are. Marines aren’t smart enough to do our own medicine.”

“Just patch ‘em back together with superglue, ‘ey’ll be fine,” Kawalski said before spitting again.

Rinn shook his ears in amusement. I don’t know what “superglue” is, but the sentiment is obvious … He stopped and tilted his head at Bradford again as a new question popped into his head. “How long do humans live?”

“Well, that depends on a lot of things,” Bradford said, “But assuming decent healthcare and nutrition, and no accidents or major diseases, humans can reasonably expect to live for seventy or eighty years or more.”

“Oldest person on record was a hundred twenty-two when she died,” Kimber added.

Rinn flicked his ears up.

“An important question to go along with that,” Kimber said, interrupting Rinn’s thoughts, “Is how long is a year on Earth compared to a year on Gahla?”

“That is actually a damn good question,” Edison said. “I didn’t notice if the days were any longer or shorter, but we haven’t exactly been running on a regular cycle yet. How long is a day on Gahla, and how many days in a year?”

Rinn blinked. That is … An important question to ask. “A day on Gahla is twenty-four hours long.”

“Whaaat! Same as ours, brah!”

“That’s too damned convenient,” Edison shook his head.

“Why is that a problem?” Gomez asked, twisting around in his seat to join the conversation.

“Dude, there’s like, two hundred billion stars in our galaxy,” Bradford said, stretching her hands out to indicate a huge size, “Most with multiple planets, and at least a hundred billion galaxies in the observable universe. The odds that two planets around two different stars would have exactly the same day length is astronomical!” She shook her head. “Nevermind the possibility of other universes!”

Rinn stared at her, struggling to comprehend the words and concepts she had just spoken. That’s more stars than there are in the night sky! What do stars have to do with anything, and how can a planet be around a star? His ears went flat. What secrets do they know that they haven’t shown yet? What secrets do they know that they haven’t even thought to mention?

“How long is an hour?” Miller asked, cutting off the rising argument.

“Rinn?” Bradford looked at him, expectantly.

That’s a question I can answer. “Sixty minutes.”

“Hmm … How long is a minute?”

“Sixty seconds.”

“Shit. How long is a second?”

“Uhhh …” Rinn scratched an ear. “Well, the measurement of seconds is still fairly new, and most families can barely afford a clock, if at all, nevermind a pendulum clock.”

“What about this?” Edison asked, taking a band off his wrist and holding it out for him to see. He pressed buttons in the side, eliciting high-pitched tones like the hearing test machine that set Rinn’s ears twitching.

“What is …” Rinn’s eyes went wide and his ears perked up as he took in the steadily changing symbols displayed on face. “Is this …” He reached out to gently touch the face of it. “This is a clock!”

“Yeah. We call it a wrist watch, or just a watch.” Edison put it in his hand. “Here, you can keep it.”

“But … How much did this cost?!?!” This would be worth a king’s ransom in Ganlin!

“Ehhh … I think it cost me, like, forty bucks?” Edison shrugged. “It’s not expensive. I’ll just pick up another one at the em-see-ex.”

Rinn’s ears dropped low. What miracles they have that they think nothing of … “Thank you.”

Edison shrugged. “It’s nothing, man.”

Examining the watch, Rinn tilted his head. “What is it doing? It just seems to be counting.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I started the stopwatch function.”

A few moments later, and Rinn had a basic understanding of how to operate his new watch. Not that I can actually read any of the numbers on it, beyond telling what are seconds, minutes, and hours … “It looks like your second is about the same. I’m not sure...” An idea came to him. “Hold on.”

He concentrated for a moment, drawing on ambient mana to spin a minor artifice. Without his stave, the simple spell required significant concentration and focus to form. Without a stave, the energy isn’t just instantly there, so you have to build the artifice one step at a time. Controlling structures first, then the mana to do the work. Don’t need to make myself look like a novice and have a simple spell blow up in my face … I’m limited to just the ambient mana I can draw in myself, so such a mistake shouldn’t be catastrophic, but the mana seems to flow here as easily as it does back home … Something important to note for later …

Holding up his left hand, a faint, crude image of a clock appeared, this one with Tolesh characters marking the time. Three arms spun around the face of the clock.

“Oh, damn, that’s a neat trick!” Edison said, leaning over the back of the seat to inspect the projection. “How precise is it?”

“As precise as we can determine,” Rinn said. “It is driven by the base harmonic frequency of all mana, which doesn’t change. I can’t hold an artifice like this for very long without my stave, though …” He glanced at Edison, holding the watch out.

“Oh, right!” Edison took the watch again and reset the stopwatch. “Mark me at ten seconds?”

Rinn nodded. “Tell me when to go.”

“Ready … Go!” Edison hit the start button with a tiny beep right as the second arm on Rinn’s projection reached the top of the clock.

“Stop!” Rinn called out ten seconds later.

“Damn,” Edison said, holding up the watch for Rinn and Bradford to view. “Almost exactly ten seconds, give or take human reaction time.”

“So about the same …” Bradford frowned. “That’s too damned convenient.”

“Well, how long is your year?” Rinn asked, dismissing the artifice and giving her the attention of both ears.

“Three hundred sixty-five and one quarter days. Our calendar years is three-sixty-five days, with a leap year every four that adds a day in February.”

“Ha!” He clicked his fingers at her. “Ours are three hundred sixty-three and four-fifths! The Royal calendar is three hundred sixty-four days long, with a Lost Day every fifth year.”

“Well, damn, maybe they’re not exactly identical,” Bradford said.

“Wouldn’t it make sense for them to be close?” Sampson asked. “If the Ganlin made the portal to flee to a new world, wouldn’t they try to find one that was as close to theirs as they could?”

“Yes, yes we would!” Rinn said. “Discussions of the concept of other worlds often included the possibility that other worlds would have days much shorter or longer than ours, or a sun that set in the east and rose in the west, or no sun at all!”

“Alright, you fucking nerds, we’re almost there,” Kawalksi said as the van came to a stop. “Get your aye-dees ready.” The van accelerated again as he spun the wheel to the left, and they accelerated around another curve that connected to another highway.

Rinn looked about as the humans all began digging unusual purses out of various pockets, and pulling out little cards with ultra-realistic portraits on them. He eyed Bradford’s card. “I don’t have one of those …”

“It’s fine, the guards at the gate probably won’t even notice you, and we’ll be escorting you, anyway.” She looked out the window behind him as the van straightened its course, pointing. “You ever see anything like that before?”

Rinn turned, looking past the highway, past an unbelievably-tall building, to a wide-open, endless expanse. His ears perked up and his brow raised. “That’s … water.” I’ve never seen an ocean before … And here I am, staring at one on a different world.

“That’s the Pacific Ocean, the largest ocean on Earth. At its widest point, it stretches half-way around the world.”

He blinked, trying to imagine the scale, when they left the highway, the ocean disappearing from view.

Ahead, the van slowed as they approached a large gate structure over the road, and slid into a line of cars. “Ah, shit, they’re in Charlie,” Kawalski spit into his bottle. “They might do more than just wave us through.”

Rinn peered through the window at the gate ahead of them, and saw multiple Marines in body armor standing at each lane. Other Marines flagged one vehicle off to the side, and had the humans inside step out while they began searching through it.

A few moments later, it was their turn. Kawalski turned the music down and hit a button beside him that made the window lower on its own. Rinn quirked an ear in curiosity, wondering how their artifices worked with no indication of mana usage.

The vehicle ahead of them was allowed through, and then it was their turn. The van rolled forward, and there was a squeal of metal as Kawalski brought them to a stop next to the guards. One was holding a rifle and stood back from the other, who just had a pistol. Both wore the same armor and helmets as the Marines did when in combat. Kawalski passed his portrait card to the guard.

“I’m going to need see all of them,” the Marine said, flipping the card around and presenting it to a hand-held artificing tool. The artifice beeped, and the Marine held the card against the scanner for a moment while Kawalski reached back to collect the rest of the cards.

“One of our guys doesn’t have an ID, but we’re escorting him,” he said as he handed the rest of the IDs over.

The Marine nodded, presenting another card to be beeped. He glanced in the van, and did a double-take when he saw Rinn. “Holy shit! Is that a?”

“Yup,” Kawalski said, picking up his bottle to spit in. “We’re taking him to the hospital for ex-rays and em-ar-ayes.”

The sentry flagged another Marine over. “Fucking hell … Corporal, what do you think of this?” He pointed at Rinn. “They’re taking him to Medical.”

“Holy shit!” The Corporal stared in the window, making Rinn shift uncomfortably. The Marine with the rifle stepped over to stare as well, while the first guard resumed beeping cards.

Bradford pulled a piece of paper out of a breast pocket and unfolded it, passing it forward. “This is Second Artificer Ahyat, he’s been a Ganlin specialist embedded in my squad, authorized by General Langstrom himself.”

The Corporal took the paper and glanced it over. His eyebrows shot up. “That’s more stars than I need to see,” he said, passing it back. “As long as one of you is escorting him at all times, you’re good to go.”

Kawalski raised his spit bottle in salute before setting it aside and collecting all the cards. He passed them to Gomez as the first guard waved them through.

“Never thought I’d see an alien in real life …” Rinn heard as they pulled away.

"Here, keep this," Bradford said, passing him the paper. "Forgot to give it to you earlier. It's a copy of the order attaching you to our squad." He took it with a nod.

“We stopping at the em-see-ex first?” Kawalski asked as Rinn debated about which pocket to put his chit in.

There are so many pockets!

Bradford glanced at her own watch. “Yeah, Rinn’s gonna need some clothes and other stuff, but I don’t want to go ham in stocking up on shit, we still have to get to the barracks, cleaned up, and back here by ten.”

“’S fine,” Kawalski spit into his bottle and used it to point at a building as large as a castle as they drove past. “We’ll be coming right back here. We can make our supply run while you and Shields are playing doctor.”

Bradford narrowed her eyes at Kawalski before rolling them in dismissal of whatever his comment meant. “Yeah, that works.”

They passed large fields paved with stone, where hundreds of carriages of all sorts were parked, with room for hundreds more. Just passed the black stone field for what Rinn figured was the hospital, they turned into another yard of flat rock.

“Unless there’s something you need back at the barracks, we don’t all need to go in,” Bradford said. “We don’t have a whole lot of time to waste.”

“Oh, some of us are definitely coming in,” Sampson said. “We’re not gonna leave our boy here at the mercy of yoursense of style.”

“What’s wrong with my sense of style?! I have a good sense of style!”

“Yeah, for a chick!” Kawalski said. “Somebody needs ta show him how to dress like a man.”

“Am I gonna have to have an intervention with you two?” Sampson asked.

“Sampson, no offense, buddy,” Edison said, turning around with an apologetic look on his face, “But the gay sense of style skipped a generation with you.”

“He is not wrong,” Olanrewaju nodded. “I have seen the way you dress.” The rest of the squad nodded in agreement.

“Man, fuck all of you guys.”

“Alright, so who’s all coming in with us?” Bradford asked with a smile.

“I am,” Kawalski said as he parked the van between two white lines painted on the ground. He moved a lever next to his steering wheel and opened his door. “Keep the engine running, Gomer.”

Kimber and Edison exchanged glances. “We’re coming.”

“I’m staying,” Miller said, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes.

“I have nothing that I need,” Olanrewaju said, shifting in his seat to allow Kimber to slide by him.

“Somebody’s gotta reign those three in,” Dubois said, sliding past a pouting Sampson and working his way to the door as Bradford opened it.

Rinn climbed out of the van after Bradford, bending over to inspect the paving beneath their feet while the humans stretched.

“It’s called asphalt,” Dubois said, hopping out. “It’s gravel mixed with hot bitumen, and compressed with a heavy rolling machine.”

Rinn picked at the fine gravel with a nail. “Bitumen?”

“Thick tar, springs from the ground.”

“I know what bitumen is,” Rinn said, flicking his ears in annoyance. “I was studying Basic Artificing at the University at Yagyhanae when the third drop fell.”

“You have one of those experiments, too?” Bradford asked. “Our most famous one had its ninth drop a few years ago!”

“Let’s go, nerds,” Kawalski said, walking around the van. “Or are you going to stare at the pavement all day?”

Dubois rolled his eyes as the group fell in and headed for the large building. I’m going inside a human building!Rinn thought, his tail flicking in excitement as they walked.

“Do you have tar fields, or did you refine it from oil?” Dubois asked.

Rinn flicked an ear at him. “The Yagyhanae sample came from the tar fields of Jhujhi, in the northeast corner of the Kingdom.” Wait … He stopped mid-step, turning to look at Dubois. “What do you mean, ‘refine it from oil?’”

“Crude oil, man,” Dubois said. “Distill it like alcohol, and you can refine it into all sorts of things, from bitumen to high-octane jet fuel, and everything in-between.” He gestured around them. “Hell, our entire civilization runs on oil.”

Rinn flicked an ear as they continued, considering. “So, if we had oil you could use …”

“You have oil?”

“There are places where it seeps out of the ground in my home province.” He gestured at himself and his dark fur. “It’s a common joke that keshmin from Yintar are stained with it.”

“Sounds like Yintar needs some mother-fucking freedom!” Kawalski said, puffing his chest out.

Rinn opened his mouth to question his definition of “freedom” when the doors they were approaching slid open on their own. His ears and eyes swung to the doors, followed by his head.

“Keep walking,” Bradford said, giving him a nudge in the back. “They’re automatic doors. They have motors triggered by motion sensors.”

“Are you sure you don’t have magic, because …” he trailed off as they continued into the “em-cee-ex,” and stared about at the wonders laid before him. He heard Edison say something about technology indistinguishable from magic, but wasn’t paying attention. It’s a giant market … He slowly looked about. There are so many things … There are moving pictures on that wall!

“Earth to Shields!” Bradford waived a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his reverie. “Welcome to America, bud.”

“C’mon, Shields, time to get you some proper clothes!” Edison said, waving him towards an endless array of clothing racks.

Rinn started to follow, but was halted by a sudden realization. “I … I don’t have anything to pay for any of this.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, man, we got you!” Kimber said, throwing a heavy arm over his shoulder. “You saved all our asses back at that camp, the least we can do is get you some proper duds.”

Rinn flicked his ears back and sighed, following along with Kimber and Edison. “I don’t have a choice in this, do I?”

“Nope!” Kimber lifted his arm and gave him a hearty slap on the back, nearly sending him tumbling forward as the other men fell in around him.

“We’ll meet you at the registers, Jabs,” Kawalski said, grabbing a large basket on a wheeled frame as Edison turned and led them down an aisle.

“Have fun playing dress-up,” Bradford laughed. “Just make sure you get him some toiletries, too.”

***

One whirlwind tour of the “Marine Corps Exchange,” and brief explanation of paper currency and credit cards later, Rinn found himself walking back to the van, the proud new owner of no less than three complete changes of clothes, two packs of “boxers,” three packs of socks, a pack of toothbrushes with holder and three tubes of toothpaste of assorted flavors, a deodorant stick, a bottle of cologne, a pair of “sneakers,” which apparently aren’t for sneaking, a “dog” brush, a bottle of “regular shampoo,” a bottle of “dog shampoo,” a “loofah,” which was apparently for scrubbing, a towel, and an assortment of tools and field supplies that the Marines recommended, or that Rinn recognized as useful. They even had fine sandpaper and polishing cloth and oil in the “hardware” section. No more khansha reeds and river eel scales for this keshmin!

“So, why were there so few people?” he asked, looking up from the bags he was carrying. “That is such a large market … shop?” He shook his head. So many new concepts that needed new words. “But we were the only ones there except for the people manning the … registers …” He struggled a bit with the human word, but felt he managed to get it mostly right.

“Well, we got here right as they were opening, so it’s still pretty early,” Dubois shrugged. “And most of the base is at the portal, or on the other side of it.”

“The women at the registers didn’t seem particularly surprised to see me,” Rinn said as they approached the van.

“They saw you when you came in,” Bradford said, rolling her eyes. “I had to explain to them why you were here, and they got all of their surprise out of the system then.”

“Ah,” Rinn said as they opened the van doors and started the awkward process of climbing back in. Everyone who left insisted on having the seats they started with, much to the grumbling of those who had to move to let them in. Piling his bags into the space between the front seats and second row seats, Rinn slid into his window seat. Bradford followed him, shutting the door behind her.

“Barracks?” Kawalski asked, looking at Bradford in the mirror as he started the van.

“Barracks,” she nodded.

“Aye,” Kawalski said, yanking the lever behind the wheel down, and they were off.

“Hey, Rinn,” Gomez said, turning around to look at him. “We were talking about human and keshmin ages before. How long do keshmin live, and how old are you?”

Rinn looked up from a bag he was rummaging through. “Well, the oldest keshmin I’ve known was old Tylan, he was the healing artificer in my village when I was young. He was eighty-four when he passed away.” His ears flicking down as he scratched behind one. “The oldest keshmin I’ve heard of was Master Raeyul, one of the Professors of Artificetry at Yagyhanae. He was a hundred and two when he passed away while giving an exam to his class.” Rinn snorted, his ears flicking up in amusement. “They say that he was such a tyrant of a professor, his students sat in his class for three hours before someone went up to wake him up and found him dead.”

“Oh, damn,” Edison said, leaning forward to rest his arms on the back of Rinn and Bradford’s seat.

“You know, I think I’ve known a professor or two like that,” Bradford said, smiling at memories.

“Pff, you and your fancy edumacation,” Edison rolled his eyes. Bradford just smiled. “So, how old are you?” he asked, tapping Rinn’s shoulder.

“I have seen twenty-four summers. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-two. Kawalski up there’s twenty-four. He’d be a Sergeant by now if he hadn’t been en-jay-peed three times.”

“Fuck you.”

“En-jay-peed?” Rinn asked.

“Acronym for Non-Judicial Punishment,” Bradford said. “Kawalski got himself into enough trouble that he got busted down in rank for it three times.”

“Only twice!” Kawalski objected. “The second time was just a suspended bust!”

Bradford shook her head with a smile.

“I’m eighteen!” Gomez said.

“Goddamn fucking baby boot is what you are,” Kawalski said. “We’ve all got boots that have more time in service than you do. Shut the fuck up.”

Gomez turned around to pout out the window.

“Kimber here’s twenty-two like I am, but he enlisted out of high school, so he’s got an extra year in service on me.”

“That’s not the only thing I’ve got on you,” Kimber winked.

“Okay, Sampson,” Edison rolled his eyes.

“Hey!” Sampson said while Kimber just grinned.

“Our token gay black man here,” Edison continued, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, “Is twenty-one. He checks multiple boxes on our diversity hire list.” Sampson showed him his middle finger.

Rinn cocked an ear at that. That is … Not something I’m going to ask about right now.

“Scuba Steve is also twenty-one.”

“Brah,” Stephens said, giving Rinn a happy nod.

“Old Moody Miller over there is twenty-three, but he got an even later start than I did. How many years of college did you do?”

“Three,” Miller said, gazing out the window as the road turned and revealed a large, paved strip on the other side of a row of large buildings. Rinn could see Vipers and Ospreys sitting in rows. A pair of Vipers lifted off as they drove past.

Fascinated, Rinn tried to watch as they flew overhead, clunking his horns against the window. He stopped trying to angle his head to see when Bradford started laughing. He gave her a sidelong glance as he flicked his ears against his skull in embarrassment and retreated into his corner of the seat.

“Sorry,” she said. “You just looked so …” She glanced away. “Sorry.”

Rinn saw everyone else in the van exchange glances, but wasn’t proficient enough in human eye speak to understand their meaning.

“Anyway, Oh-Ten back there is the old man of the group, he’s twenty-six.”

“Oh-Ten?” Rinn glanced at Olanrewaju.

“Yeah, his name starts with the letter O, and has ten letters in it, it’s easier than pronouncing his name sometimes.” Edison shrugged. “Or we just call him Doc.”

Olanrewaju gave him a shrug, and Rinn rolled his ears in return.

“So I’m older than most of you,” Rinn said, glancing around. His gaze settled on Bradford. “What about you? How old are you?”

“Ho, boy!” Kawalski said. “Ain’t you ever talked to women before? Never ask a woman her age!”

“Most of my experience in talking to women have been in brothels,” he said, and instantly regretted it as Bradford smirked.

“You spend a lot of time in brothels?” she asked with a sly quirk of an eyebrow.

“I, ah, that is … uh, no …” Rinn retreated further into his corner, his ears flat against his skull.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing, Second Artificer,” Bradford gave him a devilish grin.

Rinn snapped his mouth shut and gave her a glare. Why am I bothered by this? He wondered.

Further introspection was interrupted as the van swerved and jerked hard around a curve, bouncing him out of his seat and sending him sliding into Bradford.

“Goddamn potholes!” Kawalski growled as Rinn extricated himself from Bradford’s arms.

“And that is why we wear our seatbelts,” she said with a smile, helping him back into his side of the seat. “And so you don’t go flying through the windshield when we crash,” she added, pitching her voice towards Kawalski as she gave him a glare.

“You mean if,” Kawalski said as Rinn retreated back into his corner and firmly buckled himself in.

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, fuck you, next time I’ll let Gomer drive!”

“Really?” Gomez asked, perking up.

“Fuck no!”

As the two continued their squabble, Bradford gave Rinn a glance that was unmistakably calculating and mischievous. He gave her an uncertain look back, huddling into his corner, but after a moment’s consideration, she dismissed whatever she was thinking.

“So,” she said, jumping back a few topics. “How many keshmin are there?”

Rinn tilted his head, twisting an ear to face behind him in uncertainty. He took a deep breath. “According to the last census, the Kingdom of Ganlin ruled over roughly eighty million souls. Our neighboring kingdoms numbered maybe …” He shrugged an ear. “Twenty million, between the lot of them. That was before the war.” He sighed, his ears drooping.

“Nobody knows how many have died in the war, and refugees make it even harder, but just based on territory and troops that we’ve lost …” He shrugged. “The lowest estimates I’ve heard were in the millions.”

“Damn …” she said, looking like she regretted her shift in topics.

“Shit, man …” Edison said.

“How many of the bastards have you gotten back?” Kawalski asked.

“I … don’t know,” Rinn said, tilting his head. “A lot.” He scowled. “Not enough.”

“Don’t worry,” Kimber said, giving his shoulder a squeeze from behind. “We’ll help you kill the bastards.”

“Light every one of those sons’a’bitches up and make them regret the day they ever met the US Marine Corps!” Kawalski said. “Oorah?”

“Oorah!” answered the van.

Rinn smiled, relaxing out of the corner of his seat. These people really know how to keep their motivation going, he thought as Bradford gave his other shoulder a squeeze. He smiled more.

***

“And here we are, home sweet home: Hogan Barracks,” Kawalski said as the van came to a stop at the end of a short side road. He spit in his bottle and spun the wheel as he pulled out of the intersection and slowly rolled past a row of parked carriages.

Rinn looked out his window at another set of towering buildings.

“You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villain,” Edison said as Kawalski swung the van around and backed into an empty slot across the street from the barracks.

“Or at least a sleazy den of barracks bunnies and es-tee-dees,” Kimber said.

Rinn flicked his ears, ignoring yet another reference he had no context for.

The doors opened, and the Marines piled out with stretches and curses. Bradford helped Rinn haul all his bags out of the van, and they all fell into a mob headed across the street.

“So, we get showered, cleaned up, grab whatever we need, and meet back at- Ah, shit,” Kawalski said as he was interrupted by a bugle sounding da-dah-da-daahh.

In unison, the Marines stopped and turned, snapping to attention and saluting. Caught completely off-guard and with no idea what was happening, Rinn struggled to spin around and shift his bags to his left hand. When in Kalyikai … he thought, bringing his right hand up to his brow and mimicking their salute as a band started to play. In the distance, he saw a flag being run up a pole.

They all stood at attention, holding the salute, until the music ended. Following the example of the rest of the Marines, he dropped the salute, but remained at attention until the bugle sounded again.

“Man, that figures,” Gomez said as they turned back to the barracks. “We’re out there in the middle of a war zone, but we still get back to base in time to get caught in fucking colors.”

“Damn fucking right,” Kawalski said, lifting his legs extra wide as he walked. “Gives me a freedom boner every fucking time. Makes me extra hard every time I see a fucking boot stand and salute.” He tapped Rinn’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Hell, I bet even Shields’s got a half chub going, eh, Shields?” Kawalski winked.

“Uh …” Rinn flicked his ears back, giving him a sideways glance.

The Marines all laughed.

“Anyway, meet back the van at nine?” Kawalski asked as they walked in the door, looking directly at everyone else in the group.

“Yeah, zero-nine should give us enough time to get back to the hospital by ten,” Bradford said.

“Great! See ya!” Kawalski turned, and two steps later Rinn found himself alone with Bradford. They stopped, both looking about in surprise at the sudden disappearance of the rest of the squad.

“They’re up to something …” Bradford said, eyes narrowed. She sighed. “Fuck it,” she said, waving for him to follow her. “Let’s go get cleaned up.”

Rinn glanced in the direction he last saw one of the other Marines, then hurried after Bradford. She led him across the entrance to a set of silver doors. She pressed a button, and they stood in front of the doorway while it beeped at them and something rumbled on the other side. A moment later, it dinged and the doors slid open.

He followed Bradford into the small room on the other side of the doors, glancing about and turning around as she reached over and pushed another button on the inside of the room.

“Elevator,” she explained as the doors slid shut. “Wait for it,” she said when he cocked an ear at her.

A moment after the doors shut, the car rumbled and he felt his insides sag as if the floor was rising. His ears flicked up. “We’re going up!”

“Yup!” she laughed. “Saves a trip up several flights of stairs.”

Symbols above the door counted up, and a few moments later his stomach fluttered as the “elevator” came to a halt. I think that’s the number four … The doors dinged and slid open, and Bradford led him out into a new hallway. She turned, and he followed her down the corridor and around a corner.

Half-way down another corridor, they came to a door with three numbers on it. Bradford pulled a card out and used it to unlock the door somehow, and swung it open. “Come on in,” she said, walking through the door and flicking a switch on the wall, causing lights to come on. “My roommate’s in the battalion Headquarters Company, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Rinn glanced about as he followed her in. They walked past what looked like a small kitchen and another door that was shut, into a large common room. The furniture was arranged to make a clear divide, and Bradford walked over to one side, depositing the bags she was carrying onto the crisply-made bed.

The walls and tops of furniture were decorated with various pictures, some awards, and a few other items. A flag was hung on one wall, and next to it was a large picture of a strange air vehicle with stubby wings attached to two narrow white cylinders and a large orange cylinder, rising on a column of fire.

“I’ll get showered first,” she said, opening drawers on a tall dresser and pulling out several articles of clothing. “That way you can make whatever modifications you need to whatever you’re going to wear.”

He nodded. That’s sensible.

“There’s cups in the kitchen, and water on tap if you’re thirsty.” She pointed a thumb at the first room they had passed. “We were gearing up to spend a few days in the field before this all went down, so I hadn’t bothered stocking up on groceries.” She shrugged as she opened the door to the other room, flipping another switch that caused more lights to come on. “You’re welcome to whatever’s there. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be out in a minute.”

She shut the door behind her, and Rinn found himself alone.

Glancing about, he set the rest of his bags on the bed and set to work breaking open a pack of boxers and the knife to modify them. The boxers were easy enough to open, and holding a pair up, Rinn decided they would be much more comfortable than the “whitey-tighty” skivvies Bradford had given him from the supply tent.

The knife, on the other hand, proved to be much more challenging. Digging it out of its bag, he glanced at the door when he heard the sudden sound of running water. Trying not to imagine what was going on behind that door, he turned back to the knife, and promptly ran into trouble getting it out.

I need a gods-damned knife to get out my gods-damned knife!He thought, struggling to find a way to break open the hard, clear material. With a resigned sigh, he gave up on trying to pull or rip it with his hands, and began gnawing on the packaging in an attempt to tear it open.

As he chewed on the packaging, he glanced about at the pictures and portraits that were hung and propped about the room. So many of them are true-to-life-like … I wonder what magic they use to make such perfect pictures.

Most of the pictures featured Bradford and several other people who looked more like her than the other Marines. One was of Bradford in a very fancy uniform with a black jacket, trimmed in red, and blue pants. She was surrounded by what Rinn figured must be her mother and father, and three brothers. Her father wore a similar uniform, but with many more decorations on his chest and sleeve. One of her brothers wore a uniform that was solid dark blue, with a silver bar on each epaulet.

Another picture was of Bradford and another woman standing atop a building and overlooking a staggering cityscape. Rinn paused in his chewing to inspect the picture more closely. That … This can’t be real. They look like they’re a mile in the sky! And there are buildings that are taller! And there are so many of them, so densely packed …

He shook his head, tearing himself away from the photo, and renewed his efforts at gnawing through the packaging. Or maybe it is real … The wonders they have, that they just take for granted … “Aha!” he cried as he finally chewed through enough of the packaging to get it apart. He pulled his new knife out, and chucked the packaging onto the bed, flapping his ears at it in disgust.

Sitting down in a chair that had a convenient gap in the back for his tail, he took a moment to examine the knife, carefully unfolding and refolding the blade before he set to delicately cutting a tail hole in his new boxers.

He heard the door open as he held his newly-modified boxers up for inspection. I’ll have to resew the seam later, to keep it from coming completely undone, but this should do for now.

“Ready for your turn?” Bradford said.

“Yeah, I think I ahh!” Rinn said as he turned around to find Bradford standing behind him, drying her hair with a towel, and wearing nothing more than another towel. He kept right on turning until he was facing away from her again. “You’re naked!”

“No I’m not,” she said, laughing, “I’m wearing a towel.”

“With nothing underneath!” Rinn laid his ears flat against his head to keep them from betraying him and decided to thoroughly examine a strange disk-and-cylinder-looking object that was set on a stand on her dresser. He had no idea what it was, but it struck him as a craft of some sort. His tail was rigid behind him, except for the tip, which twitched in agitation.

“And I don’t have anything on underneath my regular clothes, either, but you don’t freak out about that.”

“But … That’s … That’s different!” It is not appropriate to think about such things!

“Not really,” Bradford laughed again, tossing one of the towels over the back of the chair. Rinn desperately hoped it was the one she had been drying her hair with. “Look, Ahyat,” she sighed. “You’re gonna have to get over the fact that I’m a woman. Chivalry is nice and all, but in the field, modesty quickly becomes more hassle than it’s worth.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled. He cursed the parts of himself that let her turn him around. Thankfully, she was still wearing the other towel, but he still made a point of locking his eyes onto hers and looking at nothing else. They are very interesting eyes, anyway.

“We’re going to be in the field together, fighting beside each other, sleeping beside each other, shitting beside each other. When the bullets are flying and the bad guys are trying to make us dead, it’s not going to matter, and we’re not going to have time to worry about who’s got boobs, or what either of us has between our legs. If you guys even keep anything between your legs,” She flipped a hand in a half-shrug. “Make sense?”

He nodded, still not breaking eye contact. “Of course it makes sense. The realities of life on the march are much the same for us as it is for you. It’s just …”

“That I’m a girl,” she finished for him, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Yes,” he sighed, his ears sagging.

“So. You’re a guy. I’m a girl. We’re both Infantry, fighting a war with a bunch of evil elves to fucking kill. Does anything else matter?”

Rinn closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath, consciously forcing himself to relax. “No,” he said, opening his eyes and meeting hers once more.

“Good,” she said, giving him a heart-warming smile before turning and jerking her head back towards the door to the bathing room. “Now c’mon, grab your stuff and I’ll show you how the shower works.”

As she walked away, she pulled her hair back over her shoulder, where the damp locks dangled to just below the tops of her shoulder blades. Well-defined muscles rippled underneath her skin as she moved, and he realized that the raw mass of her shoulder was larger than his even with his fur.

He pretended that his eyes didn’t wander down as he followed her, and steadfastly refused to acknowledge that he liked what he saw.

Inside the bathing room, Rinn was surprised to discover a distinct lack of a bathtub. The small room contained a counter and wash basin, some cabinets, and a seat over a bowl of water, all of which made sense to him, though he marveled at the indoor plumbing. Such things were rare even for wealthy. He quirked his ears at the narrow stall that stood in place of a bathtub, however, and waited for Bradford to explain this latest oddity.

“So, these nobs control water flow,” she said, turning one and then the other, producing a spray of water from a nozzle mounted near the top of the stall. “Red is for hot; blue is for cold. Adjust both for desired temperature, and make sure you shut the curtain so water doesn’t splash everywhere.” She turned them off. “Water’s free, so don’t worry about using it, but don’t take too long. We’ve only got so much time before we have to head to the hospital.”

“Hot water?” Rinn asked, jumping on the distraction as Bradford knelt down to collect the clothes she had left on the floor. “How long does that last?”

“There’s big heaters constantly heating more,” Bradford said, standing up with her bundle of laundry. “So it never runs out, unless we lose power to the barracks, though they can get overworked if everyone’s showering at once.” She turned and walked out of the room, pausing at the door. “I assume you know how to use soap and water?”

“We’re not barbarians,” he said, flicking his ears low and back, before rolling them forward. “Though some could probably stand to bathe more than four times a year …” he quipped.

She gave him a sidelong glance, then burst out laughing as he tried to wink at her only to send his face into a half-spasm. “I’ll be out here if you need anything,” she smiled, pulling the door shut behind her.

Rinn smiled after her, then turned and set his bundle of items on the counter, sorting out the things he’d need to bathe from the things he would need after. His contemplation of which shampoo to use was interrupted by a brief knock on the door.

“Hey, toss your clothes out before you get in the shower, I’ll throw them in a quick cycle in the washing machine.”

Rinn waggled his ears at the door and sighed. “Sure,” he said, setting the shampoo down, and began stripping out of his clothes. After pulling off his skivvies, he gathered everything into a bundle he could hold with one hand, boots and all, and stepped to the hinge side of the door. With his free hand, he opened it just far enough to lean around and toss the bundle out onto the floor, and quickly shut it again.

Are all humans this … casual with each other? He wondered, leaning against the door.

Shaking those concerns out of his pelt, he snagged the dog shampoo and loofah from the counter and stepped over to the “shower.” He turned both knobs and cautiously experimented with the temperature with his free hand until he found a temperature he liked. Hot baths were a luxury for most keshmin, even outside of the army, but Rinn had had enough to know what temperature he could tolerate.

Once he found that temperature, he stepped inside the stall, stepping around the stream of water, and set his shampoo bottle and loofah on an empty shelf, taking care to close the curtain behind him.

Standing next to the torrent of water, Rinn was struck by the sudden and desperate urge to pee. He stuck his head out of the shower and looked at the water-bowl privy. I … have no idea how to make that work … He glanced at the door. He really didn’t want to ask Bradford for help on this, but he also really had to go …

He pulled his head back into the shower and looked down, and quirked an ear at the drain. It’s all dirty water …he thought with a shrug. He took care to aim directly at the grate of the drain and let loose, emptying his bladder. I knew I should have gone to relieve myself before we left …

His business finished, Rinn waited a few moments to be sure the water had washed everything down the drain. Once satisfied that he had waited long enough, he took a deep breath, stepped into the stream, and nearly melted to the floor as the steaming water soaked into his fur.

“Gods above and gods below …” he muttered, thunking his head against the wall as he struggled to keep his knees from giving out. He turned to let the pounding water pour over his shoulders, and had to physically brace himself against the wall as it began to ease the knotted muscles of his back. “This is better than sex right now …”

Rinn took several long minutes to just soak, letting the stress and tension just melt away as water streamed through his fur, carrying dirt and grime with it.

When he started to lose track of time, he dragged himself out of his stupor. With a soft whine as newly-relaxed muscles told him just how much they ached, he forced himself to straighten and focus on figuring out how to open the bottle of shampoo, which was made of more of that damnably-impenetrable material.

Fearing that he would have to resort to his teeth again, Rinn was relieved to discover the top of the cap popped up with a tiny, little hinge. It only took him another moment to determine the bottle was meant to be squeezed, and he soon had a large dollop of shampoo squirted onto the loofah. Setting the bottle down, he inspected the loofah to determine how best to use it. He shrugged, triggering an instinctive half-shake that sprayed water around the shower, and set about scrubbing it around his chest.

He soon had a thick lather worked up, and using the loofah and his other hand he worked it through the rest of his fur. He turned around to lather up his back and the back of his head, squirting two more dollops of shampoo onto the loofah to lather up to his satisfaction.

Properly soaped up, he began rinsing in earnest, and used it as an opportunity for a relaxing soak as the suds and grime sluiced away.

Rinn continued to soak until he became so warm that he began to felt the need to pant. Controlling the urge, he gave himself one final rinse-down, and turned the water off. After a moment’s consideration, he experimented with turning just the cold water on, to cool himself off.

It worked marvelously, and he gave himself a quick, cooling rinse before turning the water off and allowing himself to succumb to the urge to do a full-body shake, rapidly expelling water from his pelt and spraying it all over the shower. The curtain was definitely required.

He gave himself another good shake and opened the curtain, stepping out of the shower. He snagged the towel off the counter and began the process of drying the rest of the water out of his fur. A few more shakes and shudders later, and he felt he was reasonably toweled off.

Glancing around, he found a set of hooks with two other towels hanging from them, and added his own. He turned back to the counter, and realized that the only thing he had to wear was his newly-modified boxers.

He stared at them a moment, his ears level and fanned back at a sardonic angle. Well, this figures … he thought, looking at his hazy reflection in the fogged-out mirror, which as large as it was didn’t even break into the top five most extravagant things he had seen that morning. Fine. Modesty doesn’t matter. What did Master Aityiyani always say? “Carry on with dignity, always.” At least the red goes well with my fur.

With a sigh, he donned his boxers, gathered up his things, and marched out of the bathroom with his head held high.

“Took you long enough.” Bradford was sitting in her chair, a figure transformed. She wore a clean uniform, the same as she had worn before, but this one was free of wrinkles and not a thread appeared to be out of place. Her face was clean and clear, her eyebrows smooth, and her hair had been pulled back and tied into a tight, crisp bun. Not a single hair was out of place. She gave him a knowing smile. “Enjoy your first shower?”

“I have never felt so clean in my life,” he said, looking down at the silky sheen that had been brought out in his now mostly-dry fur. “Nor looked so clean.”

“You definitely clean up nice,” she said, standing up and giving him a glance up and down. “Red suits you. You should wear more of it.”

Rinn glanced up at her and she gave him a smile and a wink. He flicked his ears at her.

“C’mon, your clothes should be about done in the dryer,” she said, gesturing towards the kitchen, where a faint rumbling noise could be heard. “It should be near the cooldown phase, but we can skip that.”

“Cooldown phase?” he asked, following her into the kitchen.

“Yeah. A dryer’s basically a barrel that clothes get tumbled around inside of while hot air’s blown through,” she said, walking up to a small tower with two sections stacked on top of each other. The top section was rumbling, until she opened the door, revealing a spinning barrel and tumbling clothes as the artifice that drove it died. “It’s great for drying clothes, but they can get pretty warm, so it cuts off the heat for a while to let them cool down before it stops.”

She gathered the clothes inside into her arms once the barrel had stopped spinning, and set them on the counter. It was mostly the uniforms they had been wearing, but Rinn recognized a few other items, including her unmentionables. Bradford sorted through the pile, tossing him his clothes in turn. They were indeed clean, dry, and quite warm.

“Go ahead and throw those on. It’s almost nine.”

Rinn nodded, stepping around the corner to deposit the clothes on her bed and finish dressing, as much out of a need to use his arms as any sense of modesty. A few moments later, he was dressed in fresh, warm clothes that smelled cleaner than when he first got them.

He met Bradford in the short hallway between the kitchen and the wash room, where she stopped him and turned him to face the long mirror hung on the wall. Damn, I do clean up good,he thought as he turned to admire his fur and how he looked in the dusty tan pattern of the Marine uniform. He looked at his horns, reaching up to run a hand along them. I just wish I had time to polish them up. I look like a wildling who dove horns-first into a bramble patch.

“Here, we still have a few minutes,” Bradford said, handing him his new brush. “Make your hair pretty.”

Rinn tilted an ear in her direction as she stepped past him into the wash room, but flicked the concern away as he used the pristinely-crafted mirror to help brush out the fur around his head.

“God damn, man, did you just shed all at once?” she called from the wash room. “There’s fur completely clogging the shower drain!” She made a noise of disgust, and he heard the sound of water gurgling.

“A proper bath and brush is a luxury we haven’t really had in a while,” he said. “The elves had pushed right up against the far bank in the last couple weeks, so we couldn’t even take a dip in the river.”

“Yeah, well, next time, you can clean the head.” He heard the brief sound of running water, and Bradford stepped back into the hallway. “You about ready?”

With one final pass of the brush, he evaluated himself in the mirror. “I could almost pass for a prince if my horns were polished, and they didn’t sweep back, of course.” He gave himself a satisfied flick of the ears and turned to collect his things.

“What does the sweep of your horns have to do with anything?”

“They curve back,” he said, reaching up to finger where his horns curved slightly at the tip. “The Royal Family’s horns jog forward,” he gestured with his hand to show the difference from his horns. “The more pronounced the forward curve, the closer to the royal line a keshmin is.”

“Huh.” Bradford stepped over to help him bag up his things, and threw the packaging he no longer needed into the trash. “Well,” she said, giving him a pat on the back. “You don’t have to worry about any of that bullshit over here. We kicked the nobility out almost two and a half centuries ago. Our government’s all elected officials, ‘By the People, For the People, Of the People.’” She waved a hand as she quoted the phrase.

He quirked an ear at her. “That is a bizarre concept. Can you tell me more?”

“Sure,” she smiled. “But later. We need to get to the van and get going to the hospital.”

“Right,” he said, looking down at the human watch strapped to his wrist as he followed her out the door. One day I’ll be able to read what it says.

The rest of the squad was already at the van, waiting for them, though Gomez and Sampson had both been walking across the stone yard in front of the barracks when they walked out. Freshly cleaned, spirits were high as they all piled back into the van. There was some shuffling of seats, but Kawalski still drove, Gomez was still riding “shotgun,” and Rinn and Bradford still sat next to each other.

They exchanged jokes about everyone smelling pretty, and when Rinn mentioned polishing his horns, Kimber suggested something called a “Dremel” and a power buffer.

Their conversation was interrupted, however, shortly after the van turned back onto the main road.

“Hey, everyone, shut up!” Kawalski said, turning up the radio.

“-is an Ay Bee See News Special Report,” a deep voice spoke over an urgent-sounding tune. “U.S. Forces launched the first offensive against the Elven Empire Wednesday afternoon, in a lightning raid and show of force against two Elven forward bases. Special War Correspondent Brad Mileski has more.”

The man who spoke next sounded slightly garbled, as if whatever artifice that was recording his words was having some trouble, and he spoke quickly, as if he had limited time to deliver his information. “Wednesday afternoon, Marines of the Second Battalion, Fifth Regiment were deployed in an attack on two Elven camps identified by aerial recon as the bases of operations for the elven forces that participated in the major battle on Tuesday. The camps were taken with minimal resistance, with as much trouble coming from the Elves’ advanced camouflage techniques as from the elven forces themselves. The northern camp saw no further action, but at the southern camp, we came under attack by what I am told were advanced elements of the surviving elven forces from Tuesday’s battle.

“The elves brought one of their walking shield towers with them, and managed to catch the Marines off-guard. Fighting was fierce, and the Marines suffered several casualties, including an Osprey that had just landed, but several Marines and a Keshmin specialist pushed inside the shield under heavy fire and took the tower out with shoulder-fired rockets.”

“Fuck, yeah! That’s us!” Kawalski crowed.

“Hey, man, they mentioned you on the news!” Kimber said, giving Rinn’s shoulder a shake from behind.

“Shh, shh, shhh” Kawalski hushed everyone as the correspondent continued.

“-were driven back under heavy fire by close are support from Marine attack helicopters and eff-eighteens and Air Force Warthogs.

“I can say with certainty that previous accounts of Elves using prisoners as living shields are more than accurate. I saw with my own eyes several keshmin prisoners chained to the tower, including children, literally having the life sucked out of them. Just as disturbing were the large pens that had clearly held hundreds, if not thousands of prisoners located in each camp, both of which were empty.

“After repelling the counter-attack, the Marines removed significant stockpiles of captured equipment and materiel before Air Force bombers leveled both camps. Military commanders have been tight-lipped about what kind of intelligence and equipment was captured, but the general impression given is that they have been hard-pressed to make heads or tails of it, and whatever magic drives the elven technology will undoubtedly require significant study.”

The deep voice returned. “Brad Mileski is an Ay Bee See News Special War Correspondent, currently embedded with Echo Company, Second Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment. Stay tuned to Ay Bee See News for up-to-the-minute updates on the on-going Portal Crisis and the war with the Elves. This has been an Ay Bee See News Special Report.

“Look at that, man, you’re already Earth famous!” Kimber said, giving Rinn’s shoulder another pat.

“Yeah, next thing you know, you’ll be in Dee See, shaking hands with the President!” Edison said.

“Just don’t bend over and show him battle scars on your ass,” Dubois quipped, giving him a pat on his other shoulder.

Rinn’s ears flicked up in alarm. Who is a president and why would anyone show him their ass?!

“Hey, now, some people might like to see his ass,” Kawalski said, winking at them in the mirror.

“Let’s not introduce him to the furries just yet,” Bradford rolled her eyes. “He’s had enough trauma for one week.”

“What’s a furry?”

Everyone groaned. Gomez grinned, turning around to speak.

“We’ll explain later,” Bradford said, cutting him off before he even got a word out. “I’m not having that conversation right now.” She glared at Gomez. His face fell, and he turned back around in his seat.

“I wonder what they’ll be able to learn from all that magic shit we captured,” Edison said. “We could do some pretty fucking crazy shit if we could do what the elves and Shields here have done with magic, and we definitely need some kind of defense against the elves’ magic.”

“Especially if they’ve got any kind of mind control,” Miller said, still staring out his window.

“You know, Shields, come to think of it, you never did tell us why mind control isn’t a thing,” Sampson said. “If magic exists, why can’t they be like, ‘I cast a spell on you …’” he sang, waggling his fingers at Rinn, “And have us at their mercy?”

“Yeah, how are we going to deal with the elves if they’re going to be running around casting Dominate Person on all of us in the middle of a fight?” Edison asked.

“Because mind control doesn’t really exist,” Rinn said, shaking his head. “Not like that, at least.”

“How can it not?!” Edison said. “We can fuck with people’s heads without magic, and that translation spell literally implanted knowledge into our brains!”

“No, it didn’t,” Rinn said with a calm flick of his ears.

“Then how the fuck can we understand you?!”

“Listen to my words. Concentrate on my meaning. Does it feel like you know what I’m saying, or like someone else is suggesting meaning in your head?”

“… Now that you mention it …” Edison frowned. “It does feel more like something else is telling me meaning.”

“That’s exactly what is happening. The translation artifice was not an instant transfer of knowledge. It is still active now, powered by ambient mana, actively translating for you.”

“So … Can’t that still be used to control minds?” Kimber asked. “You’re still putting words into people’s heads.”

“In a way, yes, but not in the way you are thinking.” Rinn tugged at a horn, trying to think of how best to explain advanced concepts to laymen. “Minds are complex things. Interacting with them without destroying them takes a lot of very fine control of mana, which means it takes a lot of mana to get that fine control. So, any kind of mind-affecting artifice is extremely mana-intensive from the start.” He rolled his ears. “And that’s assuming you even know anything about how the mind works, in the first place! The greatest artificers can intuit frameworks that do amazing things, but even that pales in comparison to the complexity of a conscious mind.”

He shook his head. “On top of that, even if you have the mana and an understanding of how to effectively interact with a mind, influencing conscious minds is not easy. The more assertive that influence is, the easier it is to recognize it, and ignore it.” He sighed, struggling to find words to explain concepts he himself was not the most familiar with. “Now, it’s not my field of expertise, but in theory, if you set someone down on a surgeon’s table and carefully played with their mind, you could influence their behavior. Doing that outside of a very controlled environment, however …” Rinn shook his head.

“What about screwing with someone’s head over time?” Sampson asked. “Like, put little suggestions or words in their head that make them think they’re crazy, or that disrupt their sleep?”

“I had a girlfriend who tried to do that,” Dubois said. “Woke up into the middle of the night to her whispering things into my ear, like ‘you will always love me,’ and ‘you will do anything for me,’ and ‘you will always leave the seat down.’”

“That’s fucked up, brah.”

“Yeah, we didn’t stay together much longer after that.” He nodded at Rinn. “What about that sort of thing?”

Rinn tilted his head with a flick of his ears. “That could work … The translation spell kind of does the same thing.” He tapped his finger on his ear and his temple. “Over time, the mind learns the suggested meanings, and the translation becomes redundant, but … once you know what to look for, spotting such spells is easy, and it’s easy to disrupt them.” He shook his head. “Fine-control artificistry like that is extremely delicate, and very sensitive to even slight disruptions.”

“So if our translation spells were disrupted, we wouldn’t be able to understand each other anymore?” Bradford asked.

“No, we wouldn’t,” Rinn shook his head. “We’d need another translation spell, if we hadn’t learned each other’s language yet.”

“So what’s stopping the elves from just mass-disrupting our translation spells and curtailing our ability to communicate effectively with each other?”

Rinn shrugged. “Nothing. They would need to think of it, of course; it’s not normally a consideration on the battlefield, and their own invisibility spells would be disrupted by it, too. It’s not part of their normal arsenal, but they are certainly capable of such disruptions.”

“So we could lose our ability to coordinate with you at any time?”

“Yes, though it’s only a short-term concern. Now that the artifice has been created, it can be copied and applied again, though preferably on a smaller, more efficient scale.” He waggled his ears. “It’s not something I could do, myself, not without considerable study and practice, but a properly-trained artificer should be able to do it with relative ease.”

“Well, that’s a relief, then,” Bradford nodded.

“So …” Kawalski asked, frowning at them in the mirror. “If it takes a lot of energy to try and play with someone’s head without frying their brain, why don’t the elves just … fry our brains?” He paused to spit in his bottle. “Kinda hard to fight if someone liquifies your brains.”

“Because creating and casting such a specific artifice takes a lot of concentration and mana, especially at range. It’s usually a lot easier and way more efficient to just throw a spellburst into their face.”

He gave a remarkably expressive frown and nodded at the mirror. “That’s fair.”

The conversation for the rest of the trip across the Marine base drifted back to the subject of “dremels” and polishing horns, with all of the requisite inuendo and ribald jokes from most everyone in the van. Rinn showed Kimber what he had picked up at the MCX, and what was involved in properly polishing one’s horns, and Kimber promised he would pick up “just the thing” for him while he was getting scanned.

Kawalski pulled up to the great castle of a building they passed near the gate. Bradford opened her door and hopped out, and Rinn climbed out after her. Leaning back in, she handed Dubois a folded stack of the paper they used as money. “I’ll text you a list while I’m waiting for him.”

“Roger that,” he said. Bradford stepped back, slamming the door shut, and the van roared away.

Turning, Rinn looked up at the hospital. It’s not as tall as the barracks tower, but I think there’s more building to it …Bradford shook her head as she watched the van lurch down the street, then turned and led Rinn inside with a wave. “They’re going to clean out the MCX and sell it all to the rest of the battalion at extortion rates.” She winked at Rinn over her shoulder. “Not that I wouldn’t do the same thing.”

Inside the hospital, Bradford led Rinn across a waiting area to a counter where a nurse sat. The whole place looked impeccably clean, and smelled … sterile. The nurse looked up as they approached, and he did a double-take at Rinn.

“We have an appointment for ex-rays and an em ar aye,” Bradford said, grabbing his attention before he could speak. “Commander Jenkins should have sent it over from Tolkien.” Rinn was suddenly even more glad she had accompanied him. Her impeccable appearance made her hard-edged tone down-right intimidating.

“Right, uh … Radiography’s on the second deck.” He pointed at a set of doors that Rinn now recognized as elevators. “Take a left out of the elevator and straight ahead, you’ll go right past it.”

“Thank you,” she nodded.

“Right, um, I’ll call ahead, let them know you’re on your way,” he said, picking a slender artifice up out of the holder on his desk. “Uh, Sergeant Bradford and … ?”

“Sergeant Bradford and Second Artificer Ahyat.”

“Right,” he said, snagging the artifice in the crook of his shoulder and reaching down to press a series of buttons on the holder.

Bradford turned and walked away without a second glance. Rinn followed her, trying to mimic her poise. He was mostly successful.

A short elevator ride later, Rinn handed his medical record to another nurse who seemed a little more prepared for his arrival. “Just have a seat over there,” she waved them to a small waiting area. “A technician will be right with you.”

They sat down, and waited.

And waited.

Deciding he didn’t want to just idle away passively, Rinn looked at his watch. “Hey, Jabs,” he said, tentatively trying out her nickname.

“Hm?” she looked over at him.

“Can you show me what these numbers are?”

“Sure!” She pulled a small pad of paper and a stick out of the breast pockets on her uniform and leaned over so he could see the pad. “Do you guys use a base-ten number system?”

He held up his hands and flexed his fingers in sequence. “Like one, two, three, and so-on to ten?”

“Yup!” She clicked the stick with her thumb, and started drawing sets tick marks on the paper, making ten sets in total, in two rows.

That’s an ink pen! Where is the ink pot?Rinn blinked, then flicked his ears at the minor miracle of a self-contained pen. There were more important things being discussed. “Then, yes, we do.”

“Thought you might; we both have ten fingers, makes sense we’d both use a base-ten number system. Makes it easy to count on your fingers.”

Rinn nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Yup! It makes this easy, too.” Her sets complete, she started writing symbols above each of them. “Oh,” she said, stopping at five to look up at him. “Do you guys have the mathematical concept of zero?”

“What?” Rinn frowned, pulling his head back.

“The concept of nothing being a number. Like, I have one pen,” she held it up, “But if I had no pens, I would have zero pens.”

“I know what zero is,” he said, flicking his ears in annoyance. “I just wasn’t expecting the question. Why is it important?”

“Ah, sorry.” She gave him a sheepish grin. “Well, Zero is very important. There’s a lot of higher math stuff you can’t do without it. Also, this is our number for zero,” she drew a circle above the ordered sets. “It’s also important here becaauuse …” she quickly finished writing in the other numbers. “Our symbol for ten is one followed by zero.”

“So, you use Standard Royal Notation, then,” he said, nodding.

“What?” she asked, and Rinn smiled now that it was her turn to be confused.

“Standard Royal Notation. Numbers are written with sets of ones, then tens, then hundreds, and so-on.”

“Ah, you mean positional notation,” she nodded. “Yeah, that’s the been the most common mathematical notation system for centuries.” She tilted her head. “Do you guys go left-to-right,” she said, writing the single-tick mark that was the human “one” followed by several zeroes, “Or right-to-left?” She moved down a line and wrote several zeros followed by a one.

“We write left-to-right,” he said, pointing at the first line.

“Oh, that makes this super easy, then,” she grinned. “It’s just straight substitution of symbols.”

Sergeant Bradford? Second Artificer Ahyat?” A doctor leading two nurses curtailed any further discussion.

He extended his hand as Bradford stood, and they shook in the human way. Rinn followed her example.

“I’m Doctor Kensington, and this is HM2 Crowley and HM3 Reynolds,” he said, gesturing to the two nurses, and they exchanged greetings. “If you follow us, HM3 will get you set up for your X-Rays.”

“How is this going to work?” Rinn asked as he and Bradford fell in behind them. Bradford repeated his question after a moment’s delay, falling back into her role as translator.

“We don’t have a full-body X-Ray machine, so we’ll do it in stages so we can get images of your entire skeletal structure,” Kensington said.

“And how does that work?”

“Well, um …” Kensington paused, looking for a way to explain the concept.

“How much do you know about light?” Bradford asked.

“What does light have to do with anything?”

“Light has everything to do with it,” she said.

“The light you see is what we call the visible spectrum,” Kensignton said, nodding thanks to Bradford for the starting point. “But it is only a tiny portion of the full spectrum of light. Most of it you don’t see because it passes right through you. Some frequencies, though, only pass through certain things.”

“So you’re going to shine a light that I can’t see, through my body?” Rinn asked through Bradford.

“In a nutshell, yes,” he nodded. “X-Rays are stopped by solid objects, like bone, but don’t interact much with softer tissues.”

“And how does that help if you can’t see it?” They stopped outside a room, and Reynolds stepped inside, gesturing for him to follow as Bradford echoed the question.

“We used to use specially-treated film that reacted when exposed to X-Rays,” she said. “But now we have more advanced sensors, so we can skip the chemical baths and just print it straight from a computer.”

Rinn followed her in, nodding in understanding of the basic concept. I’m not sure what printing from a computer means, but I suppose we have artifices they have no concept of, either …He was directed to stand in front of a construct, and given a ridiculously heavy sheet to cover the parts of him that were not being X-Rayed. “Above and below, this is heavy … What is the purpose of this?”

“It’s a lead sheet, it blocks X-Rays to minimize your radiation exposure,” Reynolds said. “X-Rays are what we call ionizing radiation, and they can cause damage to your cells … The basic structures of your body, if you’re exposed to too much of them.”

“So this is dangerous?” Rinn asked, his ears flicking up in alarm.

“Not in the exposure levels you’ll be receiving,” she assured him. “But radiation exposure is cumulative over time, so we minimize how much you’re exposed to.”

“So this is safe, then?”

“Perfectly safe,” she said as she stepped behind a wall and everyone else left the room.

“If it’s perfectly safe, then where is everyone going?!”

“Minimizing exposure,” Bradford called from the hallway.

“Hold still please,” Reynolds said.

Rinn frowned, his ears flicking low, but he complied. He heard a brief click from the construct in front of him, then Reynolds stepped around the wall and directed him to a new position.

They repeated the process several times. Each time, Reynolds stepped behind the wall and he heard a click, and Rinn couldn’t help but feel his skin start to crawl. It’s all in your head, don’t get worked up.

When Reynolds stepped around the wall and told him that she had taken the last one, his ears sagged in relief. He quickly but calmly left the room.

“All done?” Bradford asked, looking up from a conversation with the other nurse, Crowley.

“Yes,” Rinn said, doing his best to maintain his dignity while also putting as much space between him and the X-Ray room as he could. For all I know, too much exposure will make my fur fall out and my face melt off …

“Mister Ahyat?” Kensington stepped around a corner. “If you step over here, we can show you the X-Rays.”

Rinn glanced at Bradford, flicking his ears in Kensington’s direction. He sighed in relief when she moved to follow him. They’re starting to pick up on basic ear gestures. Finally.

Together, they followed Kensington into another room, this one with several, thin boxes set up. They’re like the moving picture boxes at the MCX!

“A few years ago, it would have taken us a couple days to get these back,” Kensington said as he sat down in a chair with built-in wheels. Rinn quirked an ear at the ingeniousness of it while he took hold of a small device. “But now, everything’s digital, gets read straight by the computer, so with just a few clicks …” The doctor moved the device and made it click several times, and the picture boxes changed. A box inside the box popped up, and then the screen was filled with the image of a skeleton. His skeleton. “We can pull all of your X-rays up right away.” More images appeared, and he recognized all of the different poses he had been put through.

“Above and below …” he muttered, reaching out to touch the images. An involuntary shudder rippled down his spine as he examined his own bones.

“Your skeletal structure is definitely not human,” Kensington said. “There are many similarities,” he said, pointing to a few different spots on the images. “Convergent evolution, no doubt. There are only so many efficient ways to create an up-right biped with two arms, presumably.” He glanced at Rinn with a flip of his hand, before pointing at several other spots on the screen. “But there are some big differences, too …” His fingers trailed to across the image of Rinn’s shoulder, and down his arm. “And if our fundamental biologies are anyway similar, I’d say you broke your arm. Right here.” He pointed at a specific point about half-way up Rinn’s upper arm. “Probably in childhood.”

“I did,” Rinn said, his ears flicking up in surprise. “When I was ten. I was trying to pick some yabas, and fell out of the tree.” His ears flicked back against his skull as he glanced to the side. “It wasn’t our yaba tree …” Bradford laughed before adding that translation. He looked back at the image, leaning forward for a closer inspection. “How did you know?”

“This line right here,” he said, pointing to a thin, slightly whiter line that angled across his bone. “In humans, you’ll see scarring like that at break sites.” He nodded. “That’s good. That’s a sign that we have a lot of similarities on the inside, it’s more likely our medicines will be compatible.” He pointed at shadowy shapes inside of Rinn’s ribcage and abdomen. “Not everything will be compatible even in the best scenario. Soft tissues don’t block X-Rays nearly as much as denser bone structures, but you can still see the faint shapes and positions of several of your organs, and I’m pretty sure you have a few that don’t match up with ours at all.”

Rinn nodded. All of this made sense. It’s amazing that we’re as similar as we are … Some of the speculation of life on different worlds thought that we would be completely different, like fish and rocks. Or maybe not so surprising, considering we created the portal … The tip of his ears twitched ever so slightly. I should probably not talk about that around just anyone …

Kensington looked up from his study of Rinn’s skeleton. “Are there any questions you have about any of this?” he indicated the images with a hand. “You obviously don’t have any immediate injuries. We can’t really tell you much more without time to properly study this.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “I’m ready for the emaraye.” He tilted an ear. “Whatever that is.”

The doctor smiled. “I’ll let you take care of this, Reynolds,” he said, standing up from the chair. “And if you’ll follow me and HM2, we’ll explain on the way.”

A short walk and an elevator ride later, and Rinn found himself reeling as he tried to wrap his head around this new concept of electromagnetism. He was familiar with magnets, he knew their base properties, he knew how they interacted with mana fields and how they could affect ambient mana, but this … This is a whole new field … fields? Of knowledge that we have been completely blind to … The possibilities …

“And here we are!” Kensington said as they rounded a corner into a new room, that looked like an antechamber to another room, with windows looking inside.

“Before we get started,” Crowley said, taking the lead, “I’ll need you to remove any metal items, and change into this,” she held up a thin garment that he would barely call a gown. “The electromagnets in the machine can rip them right out of your pockets, or anything sewn into your clothes.”

Rinn nodded, reluctantly taking the garment. Not exactly something I want to go parading around in, but better careful than crippled …

“Oh, and do you have any metal inside of you?” Crowley asked, picking up a board with several papers held to it by a built-in clip. “Piercings, body modifications, debris in old wounds, anything?”

Rinn shook his head. “No, nothing like that …” His ears dropped low as he realized why she was asking. “I hope …”

“I didn’t see anything that stood out on your X-Rays,” Kensington said. “Just be sure to let us know if you feel any discomfort.”

He nodded as Crowley gave him an uncertain look, half holding out the clipboard. “Normally, we would have you fill out this screening form, but … Can you read English?”

“N-no …” he said, frowning. “The translation artifice only works for spoken language.” He flicked an ear at Bradford. “She can fill it out for me.”

Both women shrugged, and Crowley handed the board to Bradford. She immediately wrote a few things down, then started going through a list of questions, some of which had obvious answers that she answered without asking him, though she dutifully read each item on the list. No, I am definitely not pregnant …

The form filled out, Bradford passed the board to him along with one of their self-contained ink pens, and tapped a block at the bottom where he needed to sign. He took a moment to inspect the pen. This one was clear, and he could see the tube of ink inside it. The tip wasn’t a point, but it was rounded. “Fascinating …” he said, before flicking the distraction away with his ears and carefully scrawling his name. He wasn’t the greatest scribe in the world, but he was reasonably proud of his handwriting, and finished with a satisfying flourish before handing the board and pen back to Crowley.

She then directed him to a changing room and began setting up the MRI masheen.

Several minutes later, Rinn found himself lying on a table in an awkwardly-thin gown, sliding into the open tunnel of the MRI. The machine was loud. He wore a set of headphones to dampen the noise, and they helped, but they were not a perfect fit.

“Alright, we’re going to start with the baseline full-body scan,” Kensington’s voice spoke to him through an announcing artifice in the room. “This is going to take a while, and I need you to lie still through the whole process. After that, we’ll do some brain scans while doing a few different activities, and we’ll finish up with some magic, if that’s alright.”

Rinn nodded and yipped an affirmative.

The next few hours were a struggle with boredom, made increasingly unpleasant as his stomach began reminding him that he had skipped lunch. He was directed to lie still for an hour, and it was all he could do to not fall asleep. Then he had to spend an hour wiggling his toes and hands and ears and tail, and he spent another hour being asked basic arithmetic. Time began to blur together, until Kensington said, “Alright, now if you don’t mind, let’s try some magic.”

Finally … Only another … hour to go … He sighed. “Of course,” he said. “Is there anything in particular you want me to do?”

“Well, let’s leave the lightning bolts off the table for today. Just something simple, preferably that you can maintain for a while.”

“Right.” Rinn scratched an ear in thought for a moment, before settling on a simple whisp juggling illusion. He propped his hands over his chest, and after a few moments’ concentration, he had constructed the artifice. “Ready when you are.”

“Go ahead,” Kensington said as the machine started again.

Rinn activated the artifice and a simple ball of light appeared and began slowly bouncing back and forth between his hands. As the minutes dragged on, he tweaked the artifice, sending the light dancing and twirling between his hands and fingers. Eventually he tweaked the spell structure and increased the trickle of mana to add another whisp, and by the time he heard the machine power down, he had eight whisps dancing and swirling around his hands.

“All done. You can come out and get changed now.”

“Great,” he said, dismissing the artifice and hopping off the table as soon as it had cleared the tunnel. “I have to piss!”

He heard Bradford’s laughter in the background as Kensington’s voice came over the headphones again. “Second door past the changing room.”

The headphones were off and dropped on the table without a second thought as Rinn sprinted for the door. With the thought of imminent relief, his bladder had slammed him with renewed urgency.

Skidding through the indicated door, he kicked it shut behind him, and stared at the water-bowl privy before him. It was similar enough to the portable outhouses the Marines had set up all around their camps that he had no trouble figuring out how to do his business, but once he had relieved himself, he realized he didn’t know what to do from there. How do they replace the water in the bowl?

Re-securing his gown, he stepped back into the antechamber. “So, um … I don’t know how to refresh the water.”

“You mean flush the toilet?” Bradford asked with a smile. Rinn gave her an awkward shrug. “There’s a lever on it, you just push down and it’ll flush.” She tilted her head. “You’ve been holding that since we left Tolkien this morning?”

“No, I just used the shower, because it was all draining out anyway, and I didn’t-“

“Wait, you pissed in my shower?!” Bradford stared at him with an expression that struck him as somewhere between horror and disgust. “I put my hands in that water!” she stared down at them, fingers splayed. “Eegghh!”

“It was right at the beginning! And I was careful to aim it at the drain!”

“I cleaned your fur out of that drain! Eegghh!!” She pushed past him and rushed down the hall, stepping into another room just past the one he used. “Go flush your goddamn toilet, and wash your fucking hands!” she shouted as he heard the sound of water and something pumping several times.

Rinn stared after her, then looked back at Kensington and Crowley, his ears low in distress. They both turned away, hands across their mouths, clearly trying not to laugh. Well, I’m glad somebody’s getting a laugh at my expense, he thought, turning back to the toilet room with a snort. He found the lever in question, shoved it down, and watched as the yellowed water disappeared with a loud whooshas the bowl was refilled.

He stared at the “toilet” for a moment in frustration. It’s not like I have any idea how any of this tahsh works.He sighed, turning to the sink, and found Kensington leaning against the door.

“Just between you and me, and don’t ever tell my wife, but I piss in the shower, too.” Rinn quirked an ear at him, and he winked. He turned to go. “Oh, and uh, soap’s in the dispenser on the wall. Just pump it a couple times,” he mimicked the action with his hand, “Lather up real good, and rinse it all off. There’s a roll of paper towels in the box there,” he nodded. “Just pull the lever a couple times and tear off a sheet.”

Rinn nodded his thanks.

“We’ll take a look at your scans after you get changed.”

Rinn nodded again, turning on the water and pumping out a couple squirts of soap as Kensington left.

Bradford was still washing her hands when he stepped into the changing room.

When he stepped back out of the changing room, she had returned to the antechamber. He cautiously joined them. “Bradford, I’m sorry, I-“

She stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. You didn’t know. It’s something that never even occurred to me that you wouldn’t know, and it should have.” She rolled her eyes. “And to be honest, I’ve put my hands in far worse. It’s fine.” Her grip on his shoulder hardened, and she pulled him close, speaking low into his ear. “But there will be payback.” She patted his shoulder and gave him a cheerful smile. “Let’s take a look at your scans!”

He stared at her as she turned away. This woman is terrifying!

Filing her comment away as something that he would definitely have to worry about later, he stepped over to the image boxes that Kensington and Crowley were operating.

“So, here is what we got from the first set of images, that establish your baseline.” Crowley was operating the picture boxes, the “computers,” this time, while Kensington stood beside her. Several images appeared alongside each other, like slices of a body.

Rinn stepped over to the computers, leaning forward to examine them. He recognized the shapes and positions of a person’s insides with ease; he had seen enough spilled out in battle.

“Like your skeleton, there’s a few things that are easily identifiable; heart, lungs, stomach, intestines,” he pointed about the images. “And their positions are similar to a human. Some of these other organs, though …” He pointed at another shape. “If I had to hazard one, I’d guess that that’s your liver, but it looks like you have two of them …”

He cocked an ear at him. “You only have one liver?”

“Yes, but it can grow back if damaged.”

His ears spun to give him their full attention as he gave Kensington an alarmed look. “You can grow fings bak?” Is that how they reattach limbs?

“Only some things,” the doctor shrugged. “Most of our liver, parts of our heart and kidneys, finger and toetips.” He waggled his fingers at Rinn. “True regeneration is beyond us at the moment, but we’ve made great progress in the kinds of wounds we can heal, and there is promising research that could bring some level of regeneration to medicine in the near future.”

Rinn pulled out another of the rollie chairs and sat down, flabbergasted. He was partly relieved that the humans didn’thave some supernatural regeneration ability, and also amazed that they thought themselves close to having medicine that could give them supernatural regeneration abilities. He stared at the pictures of his guts. The lives that could be saved with that … By the five hells, the lives that could be saved by the medicine the humans havenow! And I’ve barely even seen what they have!

“Everything alright, Rinn?” Bradford asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yah.” He took a breath, regaining his composure. “Yes. I’m just …” He reached up to tug on a horn. “All of this is just starting to sink in.”

“It’s been a long week, hasn’t it?” She squeezed his shoulder.

“Yes,” he said, staring past the desk. “Yes, it has.”

She patted his shoulder and turned to Kensington. “Doc, as fascinating as I’m sure the biology lesson is, is there anything else you need from us?”

“Just some paperwork. Commander Jenkins called over and explained what you needed.” He nodded at Crowley. “HM2 here will get you the paperwork.”

Bradford nodded, and they followed Crowley into the hallway.

Several minutes later, Rinn was signing several “consent” forms. Bradford had summed them up as him giving his permission for the U.S. government to study his medical data and use it for research purposes. He was more amazed that they had to ask his permission than anything else.

“We’ll have to put together a basic civics class for you, on how our government works, and why,” Bradford said. “And maybe some U.S. history. And Earth history …” She frowned. “And I’m done trying to make that list … It’s too long already.”

Rinn finished scrawling his name on the last form and handed the “clipboard” back to Crowley. “Is there anything else?”

“No, that’s it. We’ll hang onto your medical record here, and we’ll probably want to call you back in for a few more exams that they aren’t set up for at Tolkien, but nothing urgent.” She held out a hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ahyat.”

He reached out and clasped her forearm in the Ganlin way. “And you, HM2.”

“Sergeant,” Crowley nodded at Bradford, who gave her a nod in return.

“Alright, let’s go find the others so they can all take a turn at translating for you,” Bradford said, turning for the elevators.

Rinn laughed, hurrying after her. “What, you don’t like repeating everything I say?”

“Well, maybe if you’d say something intelligent.” She winked at him.

He snorted, looking forward and raising his chin, his ears swept back in a regal pose. “You wouldn’t understand it if I did.”

“Eyyy! You got jokes!” She grinned, slapping him on the shoulder.

“Do you hit everything?”

She pointed at herself. “Marine. Yes!”

“You’re all crazy,” he laughed as they stepped into the elevator.

“Hey, I’m one of the saner ones,” she said, pulling a thin rectangle out of her pocket.

“And that’s terrifying!” he said, then leaned over as the face of it lit up and changed as she swiped her thumb across it. “What is that?!”

“It’s my phone,” she said, turning it for him to see. “It’s a mini computer I can carry in my pocket, and lets me call and talk to other people like a radio. And I can also access the internet, which is a bunch of computers hooked together, that people can use to communicate, share ideas, or access most of human knowledge.”

“You just … Keep that in your pocket?”

“Dude, half the time I’m using this thing, I’m just looking at funny pictures of cats.” She tapped her thumbs across the screen, and when she turned it back to him, she scrolled through image after image of small, furry creatures that somewhat resembled a keshmin. “Aren’t they adorable?”

Rinn reached up and began tugging on a horn. “Humans are crazy.”

“Damn straight we are,” she said as the doors opened and she walked out, calling over her shoulder, “And you haven’t even seen the half of it.”

He groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands. What have I gotten myself into? He sighed. Better than being dead, I guess … The elevator chimed and the doors started to close. He darted through, and hurried after Bradford.

By the time he caught up to her, she had her “phone” up to her ear. “Yeah, we’re on our way out right now. Awesome. Should I be worried? You know we have to be back in-theater tonight, right? Alright … Yeah, see you out front.” She pulled the phone down from her ear, pressed something to black out the face of it, and put it in her pocket. “The rest of the squad is meeting us out front, and apparently they already have plans for the rest of the day.”

Rinn pointed an ear at her. “Who made these plans?”

“Kawalski.”

Both of his ears swung forward as he stared straight ahead, then swung back against his skull. “We’re going to get in trouble, aren’t we?”

“God, I hope not,” she said as they walked through the front doors. A conspicuous van pulled up to them, and the side doors were flung open.

“Eyyy! There they are!”

“About fucking time!”

“Hey, get in the back, make room for them, you fucks.”

Edison and Kimber scrambled around and over the back of the front bench as Kawalski berated them, and Rinn and Bradford climbed back into their original seats. The rest of the Marines had already changed out of their uniforms, and were wearing a wide array of non-uniform clothing.

“Man, we were starting worry they’d abducted you off to Roswell to be dissected,” Gomez said, twisting around in the shotgun seat.

“Nah, Jabs’d never let that happen,” Kawalski said as the doors slammed and he pulled away.

“So where are we going?” Bradford asked, ignoring what Rinn assumed was a joke.

“Downtown for food, then party on the beach, brah!”

Rinn’s stomach grumbled loudly at the thought of food. “Oh good, I haven’t eaten since this morning!”

“And you’re not going to need to eat again until tomorrow morning!” Sampson said.

“Yeah, but first, you two need to get changed into civvies,” Kawalski said as he turned them into the MCX parking lot. “Then we’re gonna go have fun.”

Ten minutes later, Rinn and Bradford were climbing back into their designated spots in the van.

Bradford wore a “blue jeans” trousers, sneakers, a faded red shirt with an emblem of three triangles over an eagle on the chest, and a dark green jacket that she left open. She had pulled her hair out of the bun, and instead wore it like a tail coming out of the back of her head.

Rinn also wore a blue jeans, sneakers, and a dark red “plaid” shirt. He didn’t pick out any of the clothes that he was wearing.

“All set?” Kawalski asked. “Nobody left behind?”

The door slammed. “Nope, we’re all aboard.”

“Fuckin’ Ay!” He grinned. “Gomer, hit it!”

“Aye!” Gomez said, tapping his phone like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.

The speakers blared to life as they pulled away from the MCX, and headed out on their adventure.

“Aaallll aboaarrrd! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaaa!”

Episode 9

“And we’re half-way there...”

“Woah-oh! Livin’ on a prayer!”

Rinn laughed as the entire van joined in on the chorus. They left base an hour before. Most of the journey had been filled with music, and questionable attempts to sing along.

“You got a problem with our karaoke road trips?” Bradford asked over the music.

“What is … kair … kair-ye-yoke-yi?”

“Kair-ee-oke-ee,” Bradford laughed. “It’s …” she tilted her head. “Actually, I don’t know what language it comes from. Probably Hawaiian or something.” She shrugged. “It means to sing along to music, usually without other vocals to back you up. It’s a party game.”

“Man, Elder would have a cow if he were here,” Sampson said, leaning over the back of their seat. “It’s Japanese, not Hawaiian.”

“Hey, I’m not a language expert. I speak American English and, apparently …” She paused, looking at Rinn. “What’s your language called?”

“Gyani,” Rinn replied. “It’s the official language of the Kingdom.”

“Gyani,” Bradford nodded. “I can understand Gyani thanks to some magical fuckery. Otherwise, I’m a dunce with languages. I failed my second year of Spanish.”

“Wait, the mighty Jabs, goddess of knowledge and intelligence among Marines, who is studying for a degree in aerospace engineering in her spare time, failed basic Spanish?!”

“Languages aren’t my thing!” she said, throwing her hands in the air. She shrugged, glancing to the side. “I might also have only taken it as an elective because I had a major crush on Kyle Eckels …”

Rinn’s ears perked up. “Who is Kyle Eckels?”

Bradford rolled her eyes. “Just some douche I went to high school with.”

“Oh, you’re not leaving it at that,” Sampson said, tapping her shoulder, then rolling his hand at her. “Spill.”

“Fine,” she sighed. She leaned back, looking past the ceiling of the van. “He was the star of the track and field team, and I thought he was the hottest person ever. He really nailed the tall-dark-and-handsome look, you know? Had kind of a quiet, brooding vibe, without a hint of Twilight.”

“No sparkly vampires for you, Jabs?” Edison asked.

“Ugh, no,” she rolled her eyes.

“Go on,” Sampson said, putting his elbows on the back of their seat and propping his chin on his hands, giving her an expectant smile.

“He was athletic, and suave, and I thought that, because he did track and field, he wouldn’t have the same jock attitude that a lot of the guys on the football team did.” She sighed. “He would look up from his mild brooding and give me a tiny smile, like just seeing me brightened his day.” She shook herself. “It sent shivers down my spine every time he did it.”

“Aaand …” Sampson prodded when she let the silence drag on too long.

“And he was a douchebag who did that to every single girl he thought he could score with. Asshole was juggling three girlfriends and hooked up with or was trying to hook up with half the girls in the school.”

“Oh, snap!”

“Yeah, when I found out he was playing me …” She shook her head. “I figured out all his girlfriends, told them, and told the other girls in our year. They all kept it a secret right until the day of Prom, after he had already spent his money on some big party reservations, when they all dumped him in front of the whole school assembly. Nobodyshowed up to his after-Prom party.”

“Damn, girl!” Sampson smiled. “That really showed him!”

“What about you, Shields? Do you have a girl back home?”

“Ah … no ….”

“Kawalski’s got a girl in every whore house,” Gomez said.

Kawalski turned, giving him a look of fatherly pride. “Truth.” His expression instantly shifted to a scowl. “Now shut the fuck up, Gomer!”

Gomez sat back, grinning the smile of someone who knew he did good.

“Do keshmin even mate for life?” Kimber asked. “Or do you have seasonal mating cycles?”

“Can you only mate once every seven years, and you have to fuck or you die?” Edison shouted from the back seat.

“That is … oddly specific … and no.” Rinn shook his head. He wasn’t going down that conversation path. “Marriage is supposed to last forever, but doesn’t always … Some people get to choose who they marry, especially in the lower classes, but it’s often arranged.”

“Is there someone you’re looking to marry?”

“No.”

“What? No sweetheart waiting for you to sweep her off her feet when you come home from the war?” Bradford poked his side, giving him a sly look.

“No …” He leaned back against his window, ears shifting awkwardly.

“Do you have a girl in every whore house?” Kimber asked.

“No!”

“What’s the matter, Shields?” Sampson asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “A little sensitive about your love life?”

“Do you even have a love life?” Bradford asked, trying to suppress her characteristic smirk.

Rinn found himself plastered to the window, suddenly the center of the focused attention of eleven humans.

“Nah, man, relax, we’re just fucking with you,” Bradford waved at him, glancing away to mask a grin.

“Yeah, who you fuck, or don’t, is your business. Nobody cares.” Sampson said.

“Fuck knows there’s enough of you that will share, anyway,” Bradford rolled her eyes.

He sighed, relaxing away from the window. “I felt like I was back at the university again for a moment, there.”

“Ha,” Bradford laughed, throwing an arm over the back of the seat to pat him on the shoulder. “Sounds like high school drama is universal, doesn’t it?”

“Apparently,” he said, tensing briefly under her touch but forcing himself to relax. Humans are just very tactile. Like the dohlgra.

The song changed on the “radio,” or Gomez’s “phone,” Rinn wasn’t sure which, nor the significance of either. There was a short, tapping beat, and then the song was immediately loud again.

“Is all human music this loud?”

“No, not all of it,” Bradford laughed.

“Some of it is louder!” Gomez grinned, like this was an awesome thing. He put his hands up to his mouth like he was holding something, closed his eyes, and scream-growled into them.

Rinn’s ears swept back, flat against his skull. “Are you dying?”

He took a breath and screamed louder.

“What did we say about death metal and screamo in the car?!” shouted Kimber.

Gomez stopped screaming, dropping his hands with a pout. “You guys are lame.”

Bradford laughed, shaking her head. “We’ve got all kinds of music. Some … more palatable than others …”

“Laaame!”

“Shut the fuck up, Gomer!”

She rolled her eyes. “We’ve mostly been listening to Classic and Hard Rock, but there’s a whole bunch of other types of music, even other types of Rock.”

“Like rap and hip-hop,” Sampson said.

“Country,” Miller added.

“Rhythm and Blues,” Edison suggested.

“And then you have classical music, different types of folk music, and cultural flavors from all over the world.” She smiled. “We have a lot of music.”

“Here, I can show you,” Gomez said, snagging his phone and flipping through the display with his thumbs. A moment later, the music stopped and a new beat started. It was slow at first, but then the pace picked up as the singer started chanting. His ears flicked from side to side as the singer sped through words at an alarming rate and he struggled to make them all out.

Gomez flipped through several more examples, some loud or fast, others soft and slow. Some were simple, some were grand and complex. The diversity alone was staggering.

"What about you? What is keshmin music like?" Gomez asked.

"Or at least, what is Ganlin music like?" Sampson added. "You've gotta have a fair bit of variation, too."

He waved his hands. “Well, I don’t have anything that I can show you, but it’s usually a lot less … loud.”

“Just wait until you guys get amps.”

“What?”

“Amplifiers. Takes the sound produced by an instrument, turns it into an electrical signal, and amplifies the signal to make it louder when it’s put out on a speaker. In a nutshell.”

Rinn quirked his ears, then shook his head. “We have symphony orchestras, and operas, but those are mostly reserved for the wealthy and nobility. The common keshmin play a variety of songs.” He paused, his ears flicking to the back of his head in frustration. “If all of my things hadn’t been lost in the retreat, I could play you something …”

“You play an instrument?”

“Yes, two.” He held a hand up. “One is a tulu.”

“A what? That didn’t translate.”

“A tulu.” He held his hands up in front of his chest, as if he were holding something. “It’s made of clay, and shaped like … a double-pointed tear, with a piece to blow in, and holes for your fingers.”

“That’s an ocarina!” Bradford said with a smile.

“Okha-rinn-a?”

“Oca-reen-a,” she said. “It’s one of the oldest instruments ever made.”

He nodded. “It’s a very old instrument for us, too.”

“I guess that makes sense,” she nodded. “That’s awesome! What else do you play?”

“The seilei, it’s like … It’s a board, with strings on it, and a ridge in the middle. You can play it by plucking the strings, or using a bow.”

“I think we’ve had similar instruments, though none are common in this part of the world.”

“So you had those with you?”

“Yes, but they were all lost with the rest of my things when the camp fell to chaos during the retreat.”

“You know … When we head up to el-ay on Sunday, we could stop by a music store and get you a new ocarina. It might not replace everything, but it’s a start, yeah?” She gave him an encouraging smile.

He rolled his ears, considering, and they slowly rose to the idea. He nodded. “I’d like that.”

She grinned. “I’d say we could go today, but the highway’s a parking lot right now. It’s going to take long enough to get wherever we’re going for food as it is, and I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking starving.”

Rinn looked down at his stomach as it growled at the reminder. They both laughed.

“Hey, driver! Are we fucking there yet? Some of us didn’t get to have lunch today!”

***

Thirty minutes later, Rinn saw glimpses of buildings in the distance that seemed further away than they should be. They crept down the highway. Their pace was stop, and go. Stop, and go. A stark contrast to the speed they moved at that morning.

The number and variety of vehicles baffled him. I understand that they probably don’t have carrels, queshi, or yashi, but do they have no working animals at all? He considered the mechanical artifices around him. Do they have any need for working animals?

Another ten minutes went by as they crept closer to San Diego, and Rinn got a proper look at the city in the distance. They had been surrounded by what he would consider city for miles, but that … There’s got to be some trick of the air … they look too big for as far away as they are, or too far away for as big as they are …

The van rounded another bend in the road, and there they were, straight ahead on the highway. The city was over a mile away, but still towered over the horizon. He stared out the window as the traffic crept forward, and the “city” before him stretched towards the clouds. Those towers are so tall, they scrape the sky!

“If you think those are tall, you should see New York,” Bradford said, giving him a knowing smile.

He consciously shut his mouth and picked his ears up from where they had drooped in amazement. “We have tall buildings, too, just … not quite … as … tall …”

“Hey, we were where you were not that long ago,” she gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Once we get done kicking the keeblers’ asses, we’ll help you build your own skyscrapers.” She squeezed his shoulder, gesturing at the city before them. “In the meantime, enjoy the sights.”

Rinn nodded, giving her an encouraged flick of his ear. He leaned over to stare out his window as they followed traffic up a ramp that broke from the main highway, his horns clunking lightly against the glass.

***

As the van drove into the city itself, Rinn looked up, and up, and up at the buildings that towered above them. I lied … not even the Great Tower at Shyiyani is as tall as some of these buildings … He was reminded of the picture in Bradford’s room, and as the street they followed took them through the middle of a building, he became certain that the picture was real.

The van worked its way down the street, carefully navigating through a stream of other vehicles. A left turn put them onto another street almost as large as the highway, and a few minutes later they turned into a paved lot filled with marked lines for vehicles to park in. An attendant met them, giving Rinn a glance through the window. Kawalski showed him his phone and talked about a pre-paid reservation. The man nodded and waved them to an empty slot, removing an orange cone that had been blocking it.

Kawalski carefully maneuvered them into their assigned slot, the big van dwarfing most of the other vehicles around them. Once satisfied with their alignment, he shoved a lever next to his wheel and turned off the van’s artifice. “Alright, everybody out! Chow’s just a couple blocks up the street.”

Doors were carefully opened and the squad climbed out of the van, squeezing past the small vehicle next to them. Rinn joined in the stretching and groaning as everyone worked the kinks out of the long ride, but was quickly distracted by the sights, sounds, and smells around him.

There is so much noise! He thought. His ears swiveled around, trying to pinpoint it all, and his nose exploded with a cacophony of scents.

He had been in cities before. He recognized the familiar sound of people moving and chattering, albeit in a different tongue. But here, there was no sound of carts and wagons rattling across cobbled streets. No clop of hooves. No lowing of muhla, no braying of queshi.

Instead, there was the rush of traffic. The sound of air they shoved aside as they moved, their rubber wheels on the road, the muttering and rumbling artifices that powered them. Loud horns would honk periodically, sometimes nearby, sometimes in the distance. An artifice roared in the distance.

Rinn looked up at the dizzying heights of the buildings that surrounded them on three sides, and closed his eyes. He smelled oil and tar, humans, the faint scent of stale piss … And food!

He opened his eyes as his stomach rumbled, and found the humans all watching him.

“You ready to eat?” Bradford asked.

“Absolutely!” he said.

“Good,” she said, stepping towards the street. “Because I’m fucking starving.” Rinn fell in beside her, and the rest of the squad formed up around them. “Where are we eating, Kawalski?”

“It’s just a couple blocks this way,” he said, taking the lead and walking back the way they had come with the van.

“This better be good, Kawalski, we’ve waited long enough,” she said as they merged onto the brick-paved footpath that ran alongside the street.

There were many people walking on either side of the street, but not nearly as many as Rinn had expected. He flicked an ear at the “cars” that zipped past them in the street, and began to suspect why.

The people who were walking the footpath with them quickly got out of their way. He couldn’t blame them. The group wasn’t exactly marching in step, but they were moving with a clear and determined purpose, nevermind their physical presence.

Rinn saw several people do double-takes when they caught sight of him; staring at him, or pointing him out to their companions so they could stare together. A few pointed phones at him, though most were discouraged by a simple glare from one of the Marines.

They crossed three side streets that would have been a grand thorofare in any Ganlin city, before making a left turn immediately after the fourth.

“Here we are!” Kawalski said, waving at a red brick building ahead of them. “La Puerta! One of the best, authentic, Mexican joints in San Diego.”

“According to the online reviews, anyway,” Kimber said. “None of us have ever been her before.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t offering any suggestions,” Kawalski growled as they walked through the open door, “So stuff it.” Rinn caught some surprised glances from the people seated outside.

The “Mexican Joint” looked a little small as their group filed inside, but it was still roomy enough, and was very warmly lit. The wall to their right was paneled with wood slats. A line of tables, each surrounded by a curving, seat-backed bench upholstered in brown leather, ran the length of the wall. Glowing, stained lamps hung over each table, and strands of small, yellow-orange lights were strung across the ceiling.

To their left was a lacquered bar, lined with padded, seat-backed stools. The wall behind it was bare brick, covered by shelves and cabinets lined with bottles that were unmistakably alcohol. Or whatever it is they drink in place of alcohol … He eyed the bottles. That glass and crystal would not be out of place at the king’s table, but here … He flicked an ear at the rows of perfectly identical bottles, and turned his attention to the man behind the bar.

His black hair was far longer than any of the Marines he had seen, except for Bradford, and hung down to his jaw. His chin was also covered in fur, and it completely surrounded his mouth.

Do only some of them grow fur on their face? Is it just around their mouths? Rinn glanced at Miller, and for the first time noticed faint stubble across the entire lower third of his face. Do they shave their fur?!

“Evening!” Kawalski said, bringing Rinn’s attention back to the present. The man behind the bar jerked his attention away from Rinn. “I called earlier, said there’d be about twelve of us coming in, asked if we could have a couple booths towards the back.”

“Kawalski?” the man asked.

“Yep!”

“Yeah, um,” he shook his head. “Yeah, the two booths on the end,” he pointed to the back corner.”

“Sweet, thanks!” The lanky Marine gave him a half-wave and the squad filed to the back of the room.

The booths weren’t large enough for all twelve of them, but a brief discussion and some shuffling later, Rinn found himself wedged into the back of the corner booth next to Bradford, surrounded by Kawalski, Gomez, Miller, and Kimber. The rest of the squad packed themselves around the adjacent table.

Shortly after they got settled, a woman appeared with a stack of large cards that she passed around. “Can I get you started with anything to drink, or appetizers?” She stopped, staring at Rinn. “Is he?”

“Yes,” Bradford said.

“Were you …“

“In the thick of it,” Kawalski said.

“We had to come back Earth-side for official business, and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to show Rinn, here, around.” Bradford clapped a hand on his shoulder, giving him a light shake.

“Your world is amazing,” he said, flicking his ears back self-consciously.

The woman blinked. “Do you … understand …”

“Yeah, it’s magic, we haven’t figured it out yet, either,” Edison said, leaning over the back of his seat. “One of them cast a big spell that let us all understand them, and them understand us, but only if you were in range. He said ‘Your world is amazing.’”

“That’s …” She shook her head. “You know what, I’m just going to focus on taking orders. Would you guys like anything to drink?”

“Takeela,” Kawalski said without hesitation. They had a brief discussion of what kind of “takeela” he wanted, which Rinn couldn’t follow, though he was fairly certain that Kawalski was flirting with the waitress. He was less certain about whether his efforts were successful.

“I’ll just have a coke,” Kimber said. “I’m the dee-dee.” He held out a hand in front of Kawalski as the waitress moved around the table. The other Marine fished a key attached to a pouch out of his pocket and handed it over without comment.

Further discussion was had about what Rinn wanted to drink. The Marines were delighted to learn that keshmin also drank alcohol, and it was decided that he should have something called a “dose ekwis” to “stick with the mexican theme.” He was a little uncertain about imbibing on this adventure, but … I’m an infantry veteran in His Majesty’s Royal Host. I’m hardly a stranger to alcohol.

“Any appetizers?”

“Queso Fundido,” Miller said.

“For one, or for the table?”

“For the table.”

“Excellent. Oh! And how are we splitting the bill?”

“Individually, but I’ve got his,” Bradford said, pointing a thumb at Rinn.

He opened his mouth to object, but then closed it, his ears drooping, as he remembered that he had nothing to pay with. This is embarrassing … I need to fix this.

“Anything else?”

“No, that’s about … Oh!” Bradford interrupted herself, snapping her fingers and pointing at the waitress. “Can we get a selection of hot sauces? We’re not sure what he can stand.” She pointed back at Rinn.

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

As she walked away, Rinn was handed a card. He stared down at the alien text, his ears twisting in consternation. “Umm …”

“Here, I’ll read it for you,” Bradford said, tilting her own card so he could see as she read off the items. Another discussion began on what everyone wanted to eat.

The waitress seemed to know her job well, because she returned at exactly the time that everyone had decided. She passed out drinks and set wooden bowls of baked chips on the table, alongside a plate of what smelled like some kind of melted cheese, followed by several bottles of some kind of sauce, then began taking orders.

Rinn stared at the chips and cheese after she departed again.

“Pass me one of the mild ones,” Bradford said, picking a chip out of the bowl. Kimber picked a bottle out, opened it, and passed it to her. “Alright, Rinn,” she said, dabbing some of the brownish liquid on the chip, “We’re gonna do some science here.” She passed him the chip. “Try that.”

He took the chip and gave it a sniff. Definitely some kind of spice here … He gave Bradford a glance, and popped the chip into his mouth. He nodded slowly while he chewed. The chip was some kind of hard flat bread; a little salty, but not much different from similar food on Gahla. “The sauce is kinda sweet … and …” He opened and shut his mouth, running his tongue across his upper teeth a few times before swallowing. “It had a weird bite at the end.”

“Here, try this one,” Bradford said, handing him another chip with another sauce on it. He could smell the bite in this one.

He eyed her again, and popped the next chip into his mouth. Instantly he felt his mouth burn. His eyes went wide and his ears stood up straight, but with ten Marines and a Navy Corpsman all staring at him, he didn’t dare spit it back out. His eyes watering, he continued chewing, and just barely managed to swallow before the fumes triggered his sinuses and he sneezed.

The humans laughed.

“Okay, so that was a couple steps up from mild,” Bradford admitted.

“Only a couple?” Rinn coughed. He could feel the heat of the sauce all the way down to his stomach.

“Well, it wasn’t the hottest they have.”

“Want to try another one?” Miller asked, holding out a chip with a subtle smile. Rinn could smell the fumes from the other side of the table.

“No. You try it,” Rinn said before sneezing again.

Miller shrugged and popped it into his mouth with a mild smirk. He chewed and swallowed as if it were nothing.

“Dude!” Gomez said, picking up the open bottle. “That’s Holy Jolokia! It’s, like, a million Scoville! That’s getting into weapons grade range!” He set the bottle back down, shaking his head in awe. “How is your face not melting off?!”

Miller shrugged, snagging another chip and dipping it in the cheese. He stuffed it into his mouth and nonchalantly chewed away.

“Try the queso,” Bradford said, elbowing Rinn. “It helps neutralize the heat.”

He immediately grabbed a chip and dipped it into the cheese. He popped it into his mouth, and closed his eyes, savoring this flavor. It wasn’t like any cheese made from muhla milk he’d ever tasted, but it was definitely cheese, and it helped ease the burning in his mouth.

“Try this stuff, it’s barely medium,” Bradford said, handing him another open bottle. He took a cautious sniff, and nodded. “Try putting it on top of the cheese.”

Rinn nodded again, scooping another chip full of cheese off the plate, and cautiously poured a few drops of sauce onto it. He took a careful bite, strings of cheese trailing from his mouth to the other half of the chip. The spice is still hot … but much more manageable … even good … He dabbed some more sauce onto the rest of the chip and popped it into his mouth.

Swallowing, he picked up his glass of beer. He took a moment to marvel at the glass itself, and how pristinely clear it was, and the fact that it was cold. They drink their beer cold? The cost in mana to keep things chilled like this … He shook his head and took a sip. It is … interesting …he decided. Different, and cold, but definitely still beer.He took another sip. And definitely stronger than table beer …

After a short discussion of hot sauce, the history of capsaicin, and alarmingly, its weaponization, the waitress returned with a platter stacked with food. Rinn’s ears perked up and his stomach rumbled as the scents wafted across the table.

Plates were passed around the table, and Rinn’s gazed locked onto the plate containing his “mix-and-match” order of steak, pork, and chicken “tacos.” He had to swallow to keep himself from drooling. He vaguely heard Kawalski make a joke about the waitress being his new hero, but all of his attention was fixated on his food.

He spared a glance at the others for some cue as to when it would be appropriate to start eating. Seeing them all immediately tuck into their food, he carefully picked up one of his tacos. He tilted his head one way, and then the other, trying to figure out how to best eat it, and decided that head sideways was the best position. He took a bite, doing his best to keep the contents from spilling everywhere, then sat back, chewing and savoring.

Silence reigned over the table for a time as everyone devoured their food, but eventually conversation returned. The topic shifted wildly depending on who was talking and who was stuffing their face, and ranged from plans for the evening, to past exploits, prospects for the war, and their own recent adventures.

“We had a lay-over in Memphis, but we got stuck there because of the hurricane going through at the time,” Gomez said. “It was like a day-and-a-half delay before they would let any flights into Savannah. Normally, they wouldn’t have let us leave the security area, but because it was a day-and-a-half delay, they let us leave the airport.” He took a drink of his “soda.” Apparently, humans had an age requirement before they were allowed to drink alcohol. “So, me and my buddy were like, ‘We’ve just been gifted one last night of freedom before we spend the next three months in boot camp. Let’s go to a titty bar!’”

“Of course, you did,” Bradford rolled her eyes.

“Hey, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t go out to a strip club if you had the chance right before three months of guaranteed no sex.”

“… Continue with your goddamn story, Private.”

“Right,” Gomez said around a bite of food. “So, anyway. We get out to the titty bar, and it went about as you’d expect. We event got special dances in the back-room for a ‘discount,’” he said, scrunching the first two fingers of each hand in the air, “When we told them we were on our way to boot camp.”

Everyone at the table, even Rinn, shared a knowing roll of the eyes.

“So, we’re in the back room, right?” He washed his bite of food down with another gulp of soda. “I don’t know what the fuck Frankie was doing, I wasn’t paying any attention to him, because I had this smokin’ hot stripper dancing in my lap. And she was fiiine. Just enough chunk to have some junk in the trunk that you could hold onto, but a waist thin enough you could almost wrap your hands around, and big ‘ol titties like melons that felt like-“

He was interrupted by Kawalski reaching over Rinn and Bradford to smack him in the back of the head. “Gomer! We’re in public, keep it pee-gee thirteen!”

“Oh, right,” he sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry.”

“Continue,” Kawalski said, sitting back down.

“So, right,” he took another bite. “So, she was dancing in my lap, top came off, then the bottom came off,” he took another drink. “She’s shaking her ass in my face. I’m thinking I’m about to be one of the luckiest bastards heading to boot camp. Then she busts ass, rips out this massive fart, right into my face!”

Kimber snorted into his drink, starting a coughing fit, and Bradford lowered her face into her free hand, hiding a smirk. Rinn's ears shot up, then swept back in empathic discomfort.

“Now, I grew up on a pig farm in Indiana. Didn’t bother me none. I thought it was fu-, uh, flippin’ hilarious, and sat there laughin’ my ass off. But her? Instantly killed the mood. She was so embarrassed she disappeared, and I never saw her again the rest of the night.” He shook his head, taking another bite. “Spoiled my hopes of getting laid that night, but otherwise we had a great time, and made it back to the airport just in time to catch our flight, which got bumped up because the hurricane wasn’t as bad as they thought.”

He set his glass down after another drink. “So, after that, we get to Parris Island, go through the whole processing in bee-ess, and of course, they keep you up the whole time, don’t let you sleep the first night.” He got several nods from around the table. “My buddy and I, we’re dying, because we spent the night before getting wasted at the strip club, and got maybe twenty minutes out on the flight into Savannah.

“They finally get us to our new barracks, and then its lights out. I dropped straight onto my rack, no blankets or nothin’, and just died.” He took another drink.

“So, I wake up the next morning, right? Both eyes glued shut. I thought I was freaking blind!” He shook his head. “Turns out, that stripper’s fart had been festering on my face the entire time, and when I woke up, I had the worst case of pink-eye anyone at Parris Island had seen in thirty years! Both eyes were welded shut, and I had to be guided to medical to get ‘em uncrusted enough to open back up. Was ess-aye-cue for two days because of it!”

“Jesus Christ, Gomer …” Kawalski shook his head.

“I bet the Dee-Ayes loved you,” Bradford said.

“Oh, hell yeah. Once I’d been cleared by medical and finished processing in, they beat my ass harder than I’ve ever worked before. That first day, they had me pee-teeing in a lake of my own sweat!”

He picked up the bottle of Holy Jolokia and casually tipped it back like it was his drink. The bottle glugged once, and Gomez’s expression instantly changed to that of a man who knew he had screwed up and regretted being alive. It glugged a second time before he could react, and hot sauce drizzled across his face and the table in his rush to set the bottle down.

Gomez twisted away from the table and slid off the bench, falling to his knees in a coughing, gagging fit. His face was crimson and covered in sweat.

Rinn stared in horror as Bradford quietly put the cap back on the bottle. “I think we’re done with this one …”

“I don’t understand what your problem is,” Miller said, scooping up some tribbles of the hot sauce with a chip and popping it into his mouth. “This stuff’s good.”

“M- mo- monster,” Gomez managed to cough out.

“Is everything alright?” the waitress asked, walking over.

“He grabbed a bottle of hot sauce instead of his cup,” Kawalski said. “The super-hot stuff.”

“Oh no …”

“Yeah … Can we get a glass of milk for him?” Bradford asked.

“Absolutely!” She disappeared behind the bar, and returned a moment later with a glass of milk.

Gomez took it from her and gulped it down like a drowning man gasping for air. The glass drained, he handed it back. “Thank you …” he croaked, getting back up and sitting back down. He immediately started shoveling chips and cheese into his mouth.

A few mouthfuls and carefully-identified gulps of his refilled soda later, he seemed to be mostly recovered. “Well, I’m not going to be looking forward to when that comes back out the other end. It was unpleasant enough going in.”

“Gomer, you’re a big, dumb bastard, you know that?” Kawalski laughed.

“Yup,” he said, shoveling another bite of food into his mouth.

***

Twenty minutes later, Rinn was wobbling back to the van, stuffed with more food than he had eaten in a very long time. Foot traffic had increased, but they were still given a decent berth by anyone they passed.

As they piled back into the van, Kimber took the driver’s seat and Kawalski called shotgun. Rinn and Bradford climbed back into what had become their designated seats while the rest of the squad piled into the back.

Kawalski gave Kimber directions as they pulled out of the parking lot, and Rinn went back to staring out of his window. The van worked its way through the city, and he gazed in fascination at all the different types of people and things that he saw. Sometimes he got some commentary from the Marines, but they mostly seemed to have fallen into a “food coma.” To be honest, if I wasn’t so sparked up, I’d probably be passed out, too … Is that a carriage? What creature is that pulling it? It looks at least as large as a queshi …

After navigating through the city, Kimber turned the van back onto the main highway, but he had barely finished accelerating to speed before he turned off again. For a moment, Rinn thought they were turning back into the city again, but looking forward he saw the ocean. Kimber kept driving towards it until he reached a road that ran right along the edge of the harbor. Out on the water, he could see the masts of countless sloops and small ships.

They made a left turn, and he had to struggle to keep himself from crawling over Bradford to gape out her window.

“Never seen the ocean before?” Bradford said.

“No, not until today.” He rolled his ears. “I’ve seen the royal fleet sheltered in Lake Kaigyap when we were at Yishyishi for a while, but never the ocean.” He flicked his ears back. “Neither have most of the sailors in the royal fleet.”

“I’d think they’d be the ones who saw it for sure.”

He shook his head. “The elves have kept our fleets bottled up in port for years. Lake Kaigyap is a brakish lake, a couple miles above the mouth of the Yishi river. It’s too narrow for the elves to get their fleet up the river, not without being obliterated by our shore batteries, but it’s also too narrow for our fleet to sally out in force.”

“Why’d your fleet bottle up there in the first place?” Edison asked.

“It’s where our main shipyards are, and the choice was shelter the fleet there, or lose it.” He growled. “Ship-to-ship, in a conventional fight, our ships are superior. They’re better built, better designed, but …” He nodded at the galleon and proper three-masted frigates they were approaching. “Like your ships, ours depend on the wind for power. We don’t have the mana to be able to move the ship and still fight and shield it. The elves, though … They can draw more ambient mana, and stock more of it, and they can move independent of the wind. When we can catch them when their reserves are low, or their motive artifices dispelled to conserve mana, our ships have rarely lost a fight, even when out-numbered.”

He shook his head. “But they are rarely so caught, and no matter how many we’ve destroyed, their ships just keep coming.”

“Well, the good news is, that’s not our Navy,” Bradford said, patting him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, those are museum ships, centuries old,” Edison added.

“If you look ahead on the right,” Kawalski said, “You’ll see something a bit more modern.”

“The USS Midway,” Bradford said as an immense, towering ship of metal came into view.

“What is that!?!”

“That is the USS Midway, a Midway-class steam-powered aircraft carrier,” Kawalski said, taking on his tour-guide tone once more. “Commissioned seventy-five years ago, and decommissioned and turned into a museum ship nearly thirty years ago.”

“When did you become so educated, Kawalski?” Bradford asked.

“When I looked it up on Wikipedia this morning while planning this trip.”

“You think he just actually knew things?” Kimber snorted.

The van turned right, into what was obviously a parking area for the ship. Kimber slowed the van to a crawl and Bradford shifted, allowing Rinn to crawl past her and get a better look through her window. “We haven’t been limited to sail power in almost two hundred years.”

“The Roosevelt’s in port across the way,” Kawalski said. He tapped Kimber’s arm. “Pull around over there, we should be able to get a better look at it.” Kimber nodded and followed the lot around toward a set of piers. As the van cleared the building obstructing their view, Rinn saw the unmistakable silhouette of another “aircraft carrier.”

“I wanted to get aboard, or even just next to her to show him, but there’s no way the squids would let him anywhere near her, and I don’t have any friends over there that could maybe sneak us in.”

“You could carry an army on that thing …”

“Or an air force.” Bradford smiled. “One of our super-carriers like the Roosevelt carries more air power than many of the nations on Earth. If you’re beating them with wooden sailing ships, one of our destroyers could probably take on a whole fleet of them by itself. A single carrier strike group would probably rule the seas.” She snorted. “Hell, they rule the seas over here.”

“But they’re over here,” he frowned.

“Yeah. There’s only one portal, and it’s bit of a hop from the water.” She tilted her head in consideration as Kimber turned the van around. “Though, we could probably dig a canal to the portal if we really wanted to … It’d hardly be the biggest project we’ve ever undertaken.”

“Or we could make another portal,” Edison suggested. “With ocean access. If you guys’ve made one, you can always make another.”

“Eh... I’m not sure how eager anyone will be to have another portal pop up,” Sampson said.

“And it would be a second point we’d have to defend,” Miller added.

“Just put it far enough out to see that the elves can’t touch it without ships, and sink anything that comes close.” Edison shrugged. “We’d probably be able to sink anything they’ve got before it got anywhere near close.”

“Maybe,” Bradford shrugged. “Either way, that’s a decision that’s waaaay above our paygrade.” She tapped the back of Kawalski’s chair. “Where to next, oh Great Tour Guide?”

“Coronado!” he said. “And step on it, driver!” he back-handed Kimber’s shoulder. “There’s a beach waiting for us!”

***

“Okay, here’s the bridge right now,” Bradford said, pointing at the rising road ahead of them.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you look to your right and left as we cross the bridge, you’ll see Naval Base San Diego, and the mighty warships of the United States Navy, the most expensive and heavily-armed chauffer service on the planet.”

At first, Rinn thought they were going up a hill, but as they went over roads and even buildings that passed beneath them, he realized they were on a long, enormous, and incredibly tall bridge.

This is taller that even the Kyidi-dai Drawbridge over the Yishi, and we’re still going up!

Looking out his window as they approached the water, he saw great cranes standing next to mighty ships of steel, larger than any warship ever built by keshmin hands. Dozens of them, moored to piers that stretched for miles around the shore.

As they reached the peak of the bridge, his ears shot up as one of those towering warships came into view over the shaped stone walls. That thing just sailed beneath us!

He glanced ahead as they traveled down the opposite slope. The bridge curved, by design, and he could see the spindly legs that held up the great span of shaped stone. There is no way that magic was not used to create this! I’m no mason, but … How could they even shape the stone? Or is it all just plastered in mortar?

The road descended to the far shore, past lush and exotic trees, and into grid-like streets surrounded by more reasonably-sized houses, though he would normally have considered all of them to be wealthy manors on Gahla.

A left turn put them on a long, bustling street, split by stretches of grass and trees in the middle. Rinn clunked his horns against the window again, trying to take it all in as the van crawled down the street. Another left turn, followed by an immediate right put them into another parking lot.

“Alright, brief stop for essentials!” Kimber called out, shoving up on the operating lever behind his wheel.

“And a swimsuit for Jabs,” Kawalski said as the doors opened.

“Yeah, we didn’t have your size, and weren’t about to guess it,” Edison said.

“That was probably wise,” Rinn said, earning him a glare from Bradford. He waggled his ears at her, and got a subtle smile and twitch of her eyebrows that seemed to promise retribution. Ha! I’m starting to figure out human expressions! But I’m probably going to pay for that later …

Once out of the van, the group headed into the neighboring building. Rinn glanced up at the looping, swirling, red script that hung above the door, wondering what it said as they stepped inside.

Immediately, he was struck by a wall of cool air. He had noticed a temperature difference when walking from the hospital to the van, and he had felt some cooling enchantment in the van, though Kimber had noted something wrong with it, but he had honestly been too overwhelmed by everything else to give it much notice.

This, though, this was like a slap in the face with a cool, autumn breeze in the middle of summer. The air in the entire building was almost cold.

“C’mon,” said Kawalski, bumping his shoulder. “Let’s go get the party supplies while Jabs gets her stuff.”

“Cart?” Edison asked.

“Cart,” Kawalski said with a nod.

Edison stepped over to a row of cleverly-nested carts, pulling one free and spinning it around as the rest of the men fell in beside him. Bradford flicked her hand at them as she walked off on her own.

“So, what all do we need yet?” Dubois asked.

“Cooler, ice, beer, snacks, probably some extra beach towels …” Kawalski ticked items off on his fingers as they continued into the store.

It’s like a smaller version of the MCX, Rinn thought. But with different things … and different versions of the same things! He swiveled his head around, looking for different products that he could recognize. The variety … and standardization …

“Why didn’t we get a cooler at the exchange?”

“’Cause y’all are dumbasses, that’s why,” Kawalski rolled his eyes.

“Too busy stocking up on things we’re going to sell to the rest of the battalion,” Miller said.

“That, too,” Kawalski laughed.

“Nothing like blatant price gouging to distract you, eh?” Sampson laughed.

“Hey, it’s called ‘supply and demand.’” Kawalski pulled his bottle out of his pocket and spit into it. “Ain’t nothin’ more American than capitalism.” He pointed at a wall of painfully blue boxes on a shelf. “That’ll do.”

Stephens grabbed a box off the shelf and dropped it into the cart. “Ice next?”

“Nah, that’s up front. Snacks are right there, then we’ll get the beer.”

“I’ll go grab some towels,” Edison said.

“Cool. Meet you by the registers.”

“Don’t forget sunscreen!” Olanrewaju called. “Your white ass is going to burn!”

Rinn flicked an ear up at the comment, tilting his head slightly, but decided it best not to comment as they rounded a corner into a section that was walled with humming … closets, for lack of a better word. Inside were rows of bottles and jugs, or stacked boxes of bottles.

“What kind are we getting?” Sampson asked, opening a glass door and freeing a wash of frigid air.

“Corona, of course,” Kawalski said. “We’re going to the beach!”

“Ugh …” he said, picking out a box and pulling it out. “Your taste in beer is so … basic.”

“Hey,” Gomez said, puffing his chest out. “I don’t care who you are. Your favorite kind of beer is free. Your second favorite kind of beer is cold. Anyone who disagrees with that ain’t a fuckin’ man.”

“Damnit, Gomez!” Kawalski said, smacking him in the back of the head. “We’re in public! There might be kids around!”

“Ah, fu- I mean, shi- oh f- gah!” He sighed, sagging like a defeated child. “Sorry.”

“Just watch it, okay?”

“Aye, Corporal …”

“Hey, don’t you go using my slave name when we’re on liberty!” He shook his head. “Just … toss another case of beer in the cart.”

“How much beer are we getting?” Dubois asked, casting a dubious eyebrow at the second case.

“Well, I figure there are, what, eleven of us?” He gestured at the second box Gomez was stacking in the cart. “With one twenty-four pack, that’s two beers a piece, with a couple left over.”

“Six left over,” Kimber corrected.

“Eh, whatever,” Kawalski waved at him. “Close enough. Now, I dunno about you guys, but I ain’t no light-weight. A couple beers won’t even get me buzzed. We don’t want to get plastered, Davies’d squeal at the chance to get all our asses NJP’d, but four or five’ll be fine.”

Four or five beers? That sounds excessive, but fine …

“Leave it to you to figure out exactly how much you can drink without getting in trouble,” Sampson said.

“Hey, I’m not the one who sucked down a fish bowl martini while doing a handstand on a pair of bar stools. How many bottles of takeela were in that thing?”

Rinn eyed the boxes of beer, trying to gage their size. On second thought … Those bottles are bigger than I would expect …

“Only one …”

“And a half,” Dubois said. “And you puked it all up about five minutes later.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“No shit,” Kimber said, swinging the cart around to head back the way they came. “You rallied for two more jello-shots, then passed out in a corner with a lampshade on your head.”

Wait … Their beer isn’t regular house beer … and they’re not talking about beer …

“I still have that lampshade!”

“What is … ta-keela?”

“Mexican hard liquor,” Kimber said. “Made from plants that only grow in Mexico.”

“Fun fact,” Edison said, walking up with a load of towels that he dropped in the cart. “According to US Law, tequila must be at least eighty proof to be sold in the US.”

Rinn quirked an ear. “Eighty proof?”

“Forty percent alcohol.”

Forty percent?! And he drank a whole bottle?! And more?!He raised his ears in alarm. “How much alcohol do you people drink?!”

“All of it, man,” Kawalski threw a heavy arm over his shoulder. “All of it.”

His ears drooped as they made their way back to the front of the store. I might not have the livers for this …

Bradford met them at the registers. Rinn had to take a few moments to inspect the inside of the ice box, marveling at the bags and bags of neatly-cubed ice stacked inside of it. He had a decent understanding of the work required to keep things cool, having worked cooling spells to provide some comfort to his unit during their short-lived campaign in the tropics, before the elves had pushed to the coast of the Briankar peninsula, cutting off their land connections to the Dohlgra. The amounts of energy they have to so casually throw around … If we could harness it into mana production …

Before loading back into the van, they spent a few moments to smash the bags of ice onto the pavement, breaking the cubes loose, before pouring it into the cooler. They packed the bottles of beer in with more ice on top, plus some “cokes” for Kimber and Gomez, and loaded the box into the back of the van, shifting the bags of “supplies” they had stocked up on to make room.

He settled into the van, expecting another long drive, but barely minutes after pulling onto the road again, they were at the ocean. Kimber found an open parking spot along the beach, and everyone piled back out. Giant, colorful towels were broken out, and the cooler was unloaded.

“Bathrooms are over here, we can change inside,” Kawalski said, tossing a towel and pair of shorts into Rinn’s face, nearly knocking him over.

Really? He pulled them off his head and gave Kawalski a glare before following the lanky Marine.

The squad took turns changing and “watching the beer.” Rinn took the longest, partly because his human clothes were not optimized for his tail, and partly because it took him a moment to realize what the netting inside these special shorts was for, and that he was to replace all of his clothes with them.

He stepped back out with his clothes neatly folded, and didn’t even have to give the humans a questioning quirk of his ears before Sampson collected them to return to the van.

“Took you long enough, Shields,” Bradford said.

He turned around, and his ears immediately shot straight up before he managed to control them and sweep them back down to his head. Is that what she is wearing!? It was a bright orange, two-piece garment, with a band of fabric that ran from the base of her neck to just above the bottom quarter of her ribcage, and a second, narrower band of fabric that started just below her hip bones and left almost the entirety of her thighs exposed. It would be a struggle to call those undergarments! … Of course, that’s what she’s wearing.

He glanced at the other Marines, and their completely exposed torsos, and the human shorts that were all that he was wearing. Even the other humans on the beach were showing an incredible amount of skin. He spotted several women who were wearing even less than Bradford. Is modesty even a concept for these people? He sighed. When in Kalyikai … “So now what do we do?”

“We hit the beach, brah!” Stephens said, grabbing two bags full of sealed bags. “Go swimming, crack a few cold ones, just hang out and chill.”

“There’s a clear spot over here, we can set everything up there.” Kimber pointed, grabbing one handle on the cooler. Olanrewaju grabbed the other handle, and the gang stepped out onto the beach.

Rinn glanced down at the sand, smiling as he felt the grains between his bare toes. He looked up, and stopped. Before him lay a great body of water, stretching to the horizon. He could see a couple islands poking out of the water in the hazy distance, and one of the great, metal human ships, but nothing else until the water met the sky. The mighty ocean …

“The water should be nice,” Bradford said. He hadn’t even noticed her approach. “You want to go in?”

His ears rolled up at the notion. “Yeah,” he said.

She tapped his arm. “Race you. Last one to the water is a rotten egg!” She shouted, taking off.

“Wh- Hey, no fair!” he shouted back, leaping into pursuit.

“Rotten eeegggg!”

He sprinted after her. He almost overtook her, but realized she had just been letting him catch up when she put on an effortless burst of speed with a laugh and dove into the water.

He jumped in behind her, and immediately came up sputtering at the taste of the water. Oh, they are salty … he thought, standing rib-high in the lazily-sloshing water.

Bradford popped out of the water beside him and shoved a wave at him, sending him sputtering again. He growled and jumped towards her, but she twisted away with a laugh and casually slipped beneath the water. She moves like a lana eel …

“What’s the matter, foxboy?” she called, popping up again several yards away. “Having trouble in the water?”

With another growl, he took a breath and dove underneath the waves. The salt tingles my nostrils, and I feel like I float too much, but it’s no different than the river back home … And I know a few tricks I picked up from the university artificers trying to reverse-engineer elven ship propulsion … Curling his legs, he gathered some of his reserves, and with a burst of mana formed a small shield wall directly beneath his feet to kick off from.

He launched out of the water, catching Bradford by surprise, and tackled them both beneath the waves. There was a brief struggle, then Rinn found himself physically thrown out of the water. He landed with a splash, and popped back up, yipping in laughter.

“Cheater,” Bradford laughed, floating a short distance away.

“It’s not cheating if it levels the playing field!”

Their dispute was interrupted by the rest of the squad storming into the water to join them. “You guys forgot the important stuff!” Kawalski said, splashing over to them while holding four open bottles in his hands, careful not to spill any or splash water into them. “Because what’s a beach party without Coronas?”

“Why do you have four?” Rinn asked, taking one of the bottles and giving it a sniff.

“One for each of you,” he said, handing a bottle to him and Bradford, “And two for me!” He grinned before putting one of the bottles to his lips, tipping his head back, and draining it down his throat. Finishing it off, he threw both arms wide. “WOOO!”

“Kowabunga!” Gomez shouted, splashing in to tackle Kawalski.

“Shit!” he cursed as he went under with almost three hundred pounds of puppy-dog Marine on top of him. A short tussle later, he popped back up, his thumb firmly clamped over the mouth of his unfinished bottle. “Saved it!”

Rinn laughed, and sampled his own beer. It was definitely different, but there was a faint, underlying, bitter taste that it shared with the beer he had at dinner. It was also just as strong. Or maybe it’s just swimming in an ocean on another world that hasn’t known the war that’s got me so giddy … He shrugged and took another sip.

“Hey, no littering! Yeet that back up on shore, we’ll trash it later.”

“Aye aye, Sergeant! Frag out!” A bottle half-full of seawater went flying through the air, to land impressively close to the array of towels that had been set up around their cooler.

Watching the bottle land, Rinn noticed a few other beach-goers pointing their phones at him, but thought nothing of it.

They splashed and swam around, with several more dunking and tackling antics, though always with care to keep the beer safe. You’d think it was the basis of their entire civilization, Rinn mused at the effort they all went through to keep it from being spilled or contaminated.

Rinn had finished his first beer, his second for the evening, and was starting to feel quite a pleasant buzz when the group tired of playing in the water and headed back to the snacks and the beer cooler. I feel like I’ve had four or five beers, not two … he thought as he climbed out of the water. The water dripping down his back triggered his natural “I’m wet” reaction, and he braced his legs as he shook his fur out.

“Oh, goddamnit, I walked right into that!” Gomez said, sputtering and spitting. “I think you got fur in my mouth!”

“Haha, you shake like a dog!” Olanrewaju said, clapping him on the back. “Go shake on Miller,” he pointed with his beer bottle. “He has been spending the whole time sitting there on his phone, rather than enjoying the beach!”

“Get stuffed, Doc,” Miller said, not taking his attention from his phone. It dinged, and Rinn saw the rare hint of an actual smile twitch the corners of the man’s lips.

“What’s got you so fixated that you can’t come join the party, Miller?” Edison said, flopping down on his towel, snagging one of their bags of snacks and pulling it open.

“He’s texting his wife,” Bradford said, pulling a pair of beers out of the cooler and offering Rinn one. He took it.

“Kaylee’s learning how to put her own clothes on,” Miller said. His face lit up into an honest grin as he turned his phone around for the others to see. “Here’s a picture of her after she insisted on getting dressed all by herself.”

“Ohhh … She’s adorable.”

“Haha, is that underwear on her head?”

“I think her shirt is on backwards.”

“I like that her socks are on her hands. Brilliant innovation there.”

The phone was passed to Rinn, and he saw a picture of a red-haired woman with a tiny, golden-haired human child. Her expression was unmistakably one of “You see what I have to deal with?” The child was unmistakably proud of herself.

“How old is she?” Rinn asked, handing the phone back.

“Two-and-a-half,” Miller said, taking the phone back. “She’s part of the reason I enlisted. Couldn’t afford to pay for school and a family, so …” He shrugged. “Here I am.”

“Look at you, all Mister Family Man,” Sampson said. “Most of us are all home wreckers, and here you are, a home builder.”

“Mm,” Miller grunted, going back to his phone as it dinged again.

“That’s the Miller I know!” Kawalski said, grabbing another beer and a bag of some kind of brown sticks. “Thought you’d been body-snatched for a second there!”

“Mh.”

Kawalski stuck one of the sticks in the corner of his mouth, and extended the bag to Rinn. “Pretzel stick?”

He took one, gave it a sniff, then took a bite. It was hard and crunchy, and sprinkled with salt, but also had a faintly sweet, doughy taste to it.

“Oh, man, I haven’t had pretzel sticks in forever!” Kimber said, snagging the bag as Kawalski passed it around. He pulled one out and stuck it in his mouth. “I loved pretending they were cigars when I was a kid!”

“Everyone did, man!” Stephens said.

“Yeah, if you didn’t do that, you didn’t have a childhood.” Gomez pulled two sticks out as the bag was passed to him.

“What’s a cigar?”

“Ha! We’ll have to teach you the ways of tobacco at some point.” Kawalski said.

“Once the medical types clear it,” Bradford said.

“Yes, mother.”

“Fuck off.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re not my type.”

“Thank fucking god.”

“Do you two want a room?”

“Shut the fuck up, Gomer!”

“Hahaha, man …” Kimber sighed. “We used to hang out like this all the time. It was in the barracks, but everyone used to just leave their doors open and anyone would just walk by and hang out. What happened?”

“Everyone keeps their doors shut now, playing video games,” Sampson said, rolling his eyes.

“I dunno, man, I started keeping my door shut after the Gay Tazer Party,” Kawalski said, swigging another beer.

“Oh, man, I remember that!” Kimber said.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Sampson laughed.

“The Gay Tazer Party. When Kimber, and Carlson, and that shithead, Iggy, from Second Platoon, all decided to wrestle me awake, but while they were stripped to their skivvies, and it took a fucking tazer to keep them back.”

“Wait, you have a tazer in the barracks?” Bradford asked.

“No!” Kawalski said, instantly

Bradford gave him a sidelong glance, but decided to drop the matter in favor of swigging her beer.

Rinn quirked an ear at them, opened his mouth to ask the question, then shut it again. I’m always asking questions …

“A tazer is a non-lethal weapon,” Edison said, giving him a knowing smile. “It zaps someone with electricity to stun them. Some are more powerful than others.”

“Ee-lec-tri-city …” Rinn sounded out the word.

“It’s what almost everything we have runs on,” Bradford said. “Basically, it’s harnessed lightning.

Rinn’s ears shot up. “You capture lightning to power your artifices?!”

She laughed. “In a way, yeah, but not directly.”

“We make our own lightning to power our shit,” Edison grinned.

“You make lightning …” Rinn sighed, then glanced at his beer and took another swig.

Kimber shook his head. “Man, Iggy and Carlson were always stirring up some crazy shit. What ever happened to Iggy? I haven’t seen him in a minute.”

“He died, brah.”

“What? The Keeblers got him, too?!” Kawalski sat up.

“No, it was like a week or so before the portal opened up,” Edison said. “His platoon sergeant had him packing sandbags for some dumbfuck reason, and he just keeled over dead.”

“What?! No way!”

“Yeah. It was a brain bleed. Apparently, he had a family history of it or something.”

“Damn … Ain’t that the shit.” Kimber sighed and took another swig of his beer.

“You know what is the shit?” Stephens said, holding a twisted-up towel. “Check this shit out, brah.”

He flicked his hand out, whipping the towel out with a sharp crack as it snapped against Kawalski’s back.

Kawalski immediately arched his back. “Ah, fuck!” He grimaced, then set his beer down. “Alright, you shithead, you’re dead. C’mere!”

Stephens danced away from him, using his towel whip to ward off the bigger Marine. Moments later, the rest of the squad was up, and spent the next fifteen minutes chasing each other around the beach in a raging snap-towel battle. Rinn stayed put, watching them as he munched on a bag of thin, greasy, salty crisp things Edison had handed him for safe-keeping. Miller glanced at them over his phone, and went back to texting his wife and daughter.

Eventually, their energy spent and covered in fresh welts and bruises, the Marines trickled back in, laughing at each other, and how Gomez had squealed like a girl when Olanrewaju had nailed him particularly good. Rinn offered Bradford the bag of crispy things, and she took it with a grin. He shook his head. They’re all crazy.

“What about you, Shields?” Kawalski asked, settling back into his spot and cracking open a fresh beer. “We’ve been telling you all our crazy antics stories. You’ve been in longer than I have. You’ve gotta have some crazy stories of your own.”

Rinn shrugged as someone passed him a bag of poofy-looking orange curls. He sniffed one, tried it, and decided that he was keeping the bag. “I don’t know where to even begin …” His ears sagged in a frown. “We haven’t had a whole lot of time for crazy antics …” He popped a few more of the poofy curls into his mouth, considering as he chewed and swallowed. “Kehkk was always up to something, though …”

He snorted. “There was that time he stole the Line Commander’s gambeson and dyed it purple …” He chuckled. “Commander Sinyi was furious. It was a very unflattering shade of purple. He had the whole line marching in circles with full armor and parade pikes for a week afterward.” He cocked his head. “I still don’t know where he got the dye … But, of course, he roped me into it, and I had to spend three hours soaking the gambeson with him in the middle of the night, and damn near exhausted myself spinning the artifices to dry it out so he could slip it back into the Line Commander’s tent before sunrise.”

“Ha, Kehkk sounds like my kind of guy!” Kawalski grinned, taking a swig of his beer.

Bradford shared a distant smile as the rest of the squad voiced their agreement, and set her beer down to pull another one out of the cooler.

“Yeah, he was a character …” Rinn swallowed the final mouthful from his bottle. His ears twitched, and he smiled. “You know, he managed to take a shit in Lord General Yangri’s personal latrine three times, and never got caught.”

“Heheheh, stickin’ it to the sirs like a champ, I gotta meet this guy!”

“He’s dead,” Rinn said, his ears sagging as he dropped his empty bottle into the sand next to the spent pile. “He died fighting the gemblade that was about to kill me when you all showed up.”

Bradford leaned over and handed him the new bottle. He took it without hesitation.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” Kawalski said, instantly contrite. “I didn’t mean ta …” He turned away, giving the ocean a long, haunted look, then sighed.

“To Kehkk.” Bradford said, raising her beer in salute. “And Iggy. And Carlson. And all the other shitheads we’ll never share a drink with again.”

“To all the shitheads!” Kawalski shouted, raising his own beer.

“To all the shitheads!” the squad echoed, joining in the salute.

Rinn raised his own bottle, then tipped his head back and drained most of it in one go. He set the bottle down with a belch, and fumbled for his bag of orangey curl poofs. Finally grabbing it, he took a moment of extra careful concentration to put his hand inside and pull out a handful of the curly poof oranges. He paused, looking up. “I’m drunk,” he said, to no one in particular, before stuffing the handful of orange into his mouth.

“Dude, you haven’t even finished your fourth beer,” Edison said.

“Somebody’s a lightweight,” Sampson laughed.

“Hey, man, stop bogarting the cheese doodles, you’re turning yourself orange!” Kimber reached for the bag.

Rinn clutched the bag to his chest and growled at him. “Piss off if you fink you’re touchin’ my oranges! Ge’ your own!”

“Aaaand somebody’s done drinking for the night,” Bradford said, gently picking up Rinn’s bottle and setting it well out of his reach.

Rinn was more concerned with sticking his snout into the bag of orange.

“Somebody’s gonna have to take another dunk before we get back into the van,” Dubois said, shaking his head.

“And hit the shower hard,” Sampson said. “He’s got so much salt in his fur; he almost looks like a badger.”

“Hey, we should get a group photo before it gets too dark,” Kimber said. “And before the bogarter of cheese doodles over there gets himself cleaned up.”

Rinn stuck his head further into the bag, licking the inside of it to get every last bit of the deliciousness that was these “cheese doodles.”

“With the bag on his head or not?” Bradford asked.

“What do you think?” Kawalski said.

“Very well,” she laughed.

“Alright, everyone, gather round!” Sampson shouted. He waited a moment and Rinn could sense the rest of the squad clustering around him, but he was more concerned with finding the last traces of doodly goodness. “Excuse me, sir, do you mind taking a group picture for us?”

“Yeah, sure … Hey, is …?”

“Yup. Long story, but we got a liberty break, and we’re milking it for all it’s worth.”

“Cool. Alright, so … How does … ah, there it is. You all ready?”

“Hey, Shields!”

Rinn turned his head towards the sound. “Hm?”

“No, the other way!”

Rinn turned his head the other way.

“There, hold it there.”

He cocked his head in confusion.

“Perfect! Quick, take it now!”

Rinn heard a couple snappy, clicking sounds while everyone around him said “Cheeeeeese!” for some reason.

“All done?”

“Yeah, sweet, these are perfect! Thanks man!”

“No problem. Thanks for your service, all of you.”

“Thanks for your support,” Bradford said.

Rinn turned his head back and forth between the sounds of conversation, still confused, until Bradford pulled the bag off his head. “Yeah, four beers is definitely too much for you. Here, have some pretzels. Hopefully food soaks up alcohol for you like it does for us.”

“Fanks,” he said, giving her a smile and uncoordinated waggle of his ears as he started happily munching away on the pretzel sticks she handed him. She’s always so helpful …

They sat and conversed for a while longer, careful to stick to happier subjects, and eventually Rinn started to sober up a little. As the sun began to set, they stumbled into the water for one final dunk. Kawalski and Kimber helped Rinn stay upright in the beach shower while he rinsed the salt and sand from his fur.

The shower woke him up enough to dress himself, and as darkness fell, they all headed back to the van. Climbing in, Rinn found his usual seat vacant, so he flopped himself into the corner. A few moments later, the rest of the Marines piled into the back, with Kawalski “calling shotgun,” leaving Bradford to climb in next to him. Not that he minded sharing the bench seat with her in the least.

Kimber was a much less aggressive driver than Kawalski, and the ride back to the portal was much smoother than the rest of the trip. Thoroughly exhausted, and still quite tipsy, Rinn leaned back in his seat with a sigh. That was fun … he thought as the street lights around the van dimmed. He was out cold before they even reached the bridge.

Rinn was jostled awake sometime later as the van carefully bounced over a rough dirt road, the faint green light outlining the edge of the portal looming above them. A stirring on his shoulder drew his gaze to the right, and he woke up enough to realize that he and Bradford were leaning on each other as he locked eyes with her.

They shared a quiet look before reaching a silent agreement to awkwardly ease away from each other. That was terribly inappropriate. And I had way too much alcohol. He thunked his head against the window. Bad thoughts. Not appropriate.

He leaned his face against the glass, finding it pleasantly cool, and was just starting to drift off again when the van jerked to a halt. “Alright, ladies, we’re home. Everybody out, and don’t forget any of your shit.”

There was much groaning and stretching as the Marines roused themselves from their own naps and oozed their way out of the van. Rinn joined in unloading the supplies, and was amazed at the quantity they had all purchased. “This is all for you?”

“Oh, no, a lot of this we’re gonna sell to the rest of the company,” Kimber said. “Once we get properly deployed out in the field and they can’t just hop into a van and make a quick trip to wal-mart.”

“At an exorbitant mark-up, of course,” Kawalski grinned, giving him a wink. “I’ve seen guys pay twenty bucks for a can of dip on deployment.”

Rinn nodded in understanding. “There are times I would have paid a month’s salary for some proper hiila from back home.”

“See, I told you he’d get it,” Kawalski said as they carried their haul into the tent. Kimber hopped back into the van and drove off.

Returning to his bunk, Rinn decided that he would properly stow his things in the morning, and set them under his cot. He stripped himself down to his skivvies, but retained enough sense of propriety to put a uniform t-shirt back on. The rest of the squad started settling in around him.

“Hey, have you seen my … Oh, there it is, nevermind …”

“Did you actually remember to put your shit away properly for a change, Gomer?”

“Apparently …”

“Would you guys keep it down; I’m trying to sleep.”

“Right, sorry, Davies. HEY, KEEP IT DOWN, GUYS!”

Laughter filled their tent, followed by everyone shushing each other.

Chuckling to himself, Rinn flopped down on his bunk, quite happy with the day. Today was good.

He had barely finished settling into his pillow before he was asleep.

Episode 9.5

Tyriel opened his eyes. Staring disinterestedly at the white, patterned ceiling above him, he took a moment to recall where he was.

Not home.

He sat up, drawing the blankets he had found off himself, and turned to contemplate the dark face of the flat scrying glass. It is nothing like the Demesne of Êliâth, but this manor is comfortable enough.

Tyriel had spent much of the previous day studying the scrying glass and its contents. It had been a remarkable source of information. Much of it is absolutely fiction and various forms of entertainment, but there were whole … phases? Channels? Whatever they are … Entire sectors dedicated to education, and news. He snorted, remembering their descriptions of the portal and their so-called “war.” For all the wonders they seem to have, they are so quaint and ignorant …

He stretched, twisting a few kinks out of his back. The couch he slept on was comfortable enough, but it was no proper bed. His smooth face twisted in disgust as he considered again the notion of sleeping in a bed that had been used by animals. Maybe after thoroughly washing their stink out of the linens. He had slept in much worse places, of course, but there was no necessity now.

Rising, he left the blankets on the couch and walked to the wash closet on the ground floor, stepping over the bloodstains his cursory cleaning had left in the carpet. If this were my own home, I would rip up the entire floor to be rid of the filth, but all that matters here is being rid of the smell. I’m going to burn the place when I am done, anyway.

He amused himself again with the indoor plumbing, and pondered how the dumb creatures had managed to achieve the feat without magic. Not that it requires any particular sophistication … Gravity does most of the work regardless of the system.

His sweep of the house the previous day had ensured that he had eliminated all of the potential threats and inconveniences, and also revealed a few more interesting artifacts. There were several scrying artifacts around, though none as large as the one in the main room. Most were locked in some way he could not bypass with cursory investigation, and the ones that were not were simply smaller versions of the large one.

Morning absolutions complete, he wandered into the kitchen, marveling again at their simple recreations of proper spellcraft, all without any detectible mana usage. The lights are all point sources … No ambient light generation at all, and all of their point-lights seem to require a physical connection to something. He had disconnected one of the lamps from where its tether was socketed into the wall, baffled by the metal prongs, and the metal wires he found inside the tether when he cut it open. Perhaps they have found some way to channel mana through common metals? But not even the most efficient constructs can prevent every trace of mana bleed … And even when inactive, the spell structure still remains and reflects a detectable resonance … He flicked the lights on and off a few more times, before leaving them off. The windows provided plenty of ambient light, and there was something about the point lights that bothered him.

He barely set foot into the kitchen when a piercing chime rang throughout the house. He spun around, partially drawing his sword on instinct, before recognition took over. Damnable devices!He snorted, all but throwing his blade back into its sheath. The cursed artifacts had been lighting up and ringing at random points through the day and night. The first time, he had stayed on alert for nearly an hour, thinking it was some kind of alarm. Study and patience had quickly changed his view to one of annoyance, as they would randomly start bleating their aggravating tone for several seconds, then stop. Sometimes they would start again almost immediately. The most he counted was four times in a row.

Unsure of what function they served, and cautious about fiddling with unknown magics, he waited until the initial tone had stopped sounding to investigate. Maybe I should cut the tethers for all of them … At least it would spare me the annoyance of those ones...

He reached the cold box as the house-wide chime stopped. He waited. Sure enough, a few moments later, another device chimed upstairs. Most of them were linked together, but some were independent. These would light up with pictures, alien script, and flashing symbols when they chimed, but they appeared to be locked when Tyriel tried to interact with them while they were silent.

Many of the presentations on the scrying box showed people talking through such devices, but experimenting with them when they are not ringing only produces a droning buzz and a limited range of grating tones. Do they actually allow a person to talk to another, or was it a metaphor?

He rolled his eyes, putting contemplation of those artifacts off for a later time, and opened the door of the cold box. These people possess quite an impressive amount of food, he thought, rummaging through the contents of the cold box. Some of it is even quite palatable, though a large portion of it contains some form of meat … Disgusting animals …

Pulling out a pair of reddish fruits and a bowl of noodles he cooked the night before after figuring out the stove system, he sat down for a morning meal. There is much in the main house that will still require much more study, and the scrying box is an endless source of information, but today I will investigate the adjacent building, and the carriage parked in front of it.

His ruminations were interrupted by a low rumble from outside, the crunch of gravel, and a faint whine of metal on metal. He froze mid-bite at the sound, then quickly swallowed. Quietly slipping back into the main room, he retrieved his staff, and crept to one of the windows on what he had come to think of as the “front” of the house.

Peeking past the curtains, he frowned. Another carriage had arrived. This one was shorter, black and white, and had a narrow bar across the top. Two humans stepped out, both wearing crisp, tan and green uniforms.

Thankful that he had not left the great picture device on, nor any of the lights, he quickly and quietly double-checked the locks on all the doors. They were relatively simple mechanical things, but also remarkably sophisticated, and he had taken the time to ensure they were all set the day before. A quiet round of the house ensured all the entrances were secured and the windows latched. Not wanting to draw more attention to himself, he hoped that a dark and secure home would deter these uniformed humans and send them back to where they came from.

Why are they here so soon? Was this family that important? He rolled his eyes. How typical of my fortunes if this was the local lord’s manor …

The humans reached the front door, and a chime sounded throughout the house. A few moments later, they rang it again. Still receiving nothing but silence, they tried it a few more times, while also knocking on the door and calling out. “Mister and Misses Stahler? San Diego County Sheriff’s Office. We were sent to check on you.”

Greeted by silence, they called out again, knocking louder. When no answer was forthcoming, they paused to discuss amongst themselves. Tyriel strained, but could not make out their words through the door. A moment later, and one began to walk around the house. Tyriel heard more chatter that was scratchy, and didn’t seem to come from either of them. Tyriel could hear them both talk briefly with the scratchy voice even while separated, though he still couldn’t hear them clear enough to make out any words.

The one at the door started knocking again, ringing the chime a couple more times, but Tyriel shifted his attention to the one moving behind the house.

The man peered in the curtained windows as he walked around the house, and tried the other doors, including the big, sliding glass door that Tyriel made his entrance through. Tyriel watched him through the gaps in the curtains, careful to keep himself in shadows, his blending activated. The mana in this world was as plentiful as his own, but limited to just his natural connection to the ether to replenish his stores, he had to be careful to conserve his mana as much as he could.

After a few minutes of trying to peer through the glass door, the uniformed human sighed in frustration. He seemed about to give up, when he turned around to survey the yard. He froze, his hand dropping to his weapon. Staring across the yard, he talked into something pinned to his shoulder as he walked away from the door.

Tyriel crept closer to the door, trying to see what drew the human’s attention. His eyes fell on the broken corpse of the beast that first attacked him. Damn me for a carelessness fool.

The man carefully nudged the beast, investigating its corpse, then turned to the glass door with a steely gaze. Tyriel felt as if those eyes were piercing right through him despite the curtains and his active blend. He spoke into his shoulder device once more, and this time Tyriel could barely make out his words. “Dispatch, fifty-six-paul-five, eleven-thirteen. Family dog. Looks like a possible two-forty-six. Ten-eighty-eight.” He drew his weapon and took a step toward the door. “Proceeding inside.”

Tyriel was debating his options when the second human came around the corner, weapon drawn. Not wanting to risk a confrontation with two armed soldiers or guards, he withdrew from the window.

The two humans circled the house. A moment later, he heard the splintering crash of one of the other doors on the other side of the kitchen being smashed in. Engaging full invisibility, he quietly slipped up the stairs, observing as the humans quickly and efficiently swept through the house.

“Sheriff’s office, entering!” one called out.

“Food on the counter.”

“Pantry clear.”

“Bite out of the apple looks fresh.”

“Somebody Still here?”

“Maybe … Or just left.”

The faint clop of their boots on the hard kitchen floor became muffled by carpet. Tyriel crouched at the top of the stairs, watching.

“Shit. Blood on the floor.”

One of them crouched while the other covered him, edging around the room to keep an eye on all the entrances. The human covering the room reached up to hold the object pinned to his shoulder. “Dispatch, fifty-six-five. Code three, probable one-eighty-seven.”

The object on his shoulder squawked, and a voice came out of it. “Copy fifty-six-five. Fifty-six-three is en route.”

The crouching human frowned at the streaks on the wall and the smeared stain. “Looks like somebody tried to clean it up.”

“Before or after they slept on the couch?”

“Blood looks smeared toward the stairs.” The crouching human stood up, his weapon raised towards the stairs. The other human stepped around the couch to join him, his weapon sweeping the room as he backed towards the stairs.

Tyriel cursed himself again for not cleaning the mess more thoroughly. He retreated down the hall, slipping into the son’s room as the humans followed the blood stains up the stairs.

“Blood splatter. Big pool of blood.”

“Somebody died here.”

“Shit.”

Stepping behind some furniture in the son’s room, he dropped his true invisibility, relying on just his blending to conserve mana. He listened to the humans move down the hall, clearing rooms as they went. They are efficient, he thought, picturing their movements as he listened to doors opening and their clipped chatter.

“The blood trail leads in there …” Slowly peaking a sliver of an eye around the chest of drawers he crouched behind, he caught a glimpse of them moving into the girl’s room.

“Holy mother of god …”

“Jesus fucking Christ …”

There was a long moment of silence. Peaking further around the corner, Tyriel saw no sign of movement out of the other room. Taking advantage of their distraction, he began to creep out of the boy’s room, re-engaging his true invisibility. The precaution is worth the cost.

“Dispatch, fifty-six-five … Confirmed one-eighty-seven. Eleven-forty-four, count of four.”

“Copy, fifty-six-five. Fifty-six-three should be ten-ninety-seven. Ten-thirty-four?”

The two doors were directly adjacent to each other, so Tyriel caught a glimpse of the two humans’ backs as he stepped into the hall. If they weren’t in communication with someone else … He dismissed the thought as a distraction, and quietly moved towards his escape.

He was only two steps down the hall when the floor beneath his feet dared to give him away with an unmistakable creak.

He froze.

“Shit …”

“They’re still here …”

He carefully turned around, stepping away from the treacherous spot on the floor, as the humans advanced out of the girl’s room, weapons at the ready. They paused, seeing an empty hallway. One signaled the other, and they slowly moved down the hall, placing their feet silently on the carpet.

He held his breath, not daring to make a sound. He knew couldn’t maintain true invisibility for much longer, but he had to. He took a step back to avoid being walked into. Then another, and another. And another. Creak.

All three of them froze. He felt their eyes boring through him, and knew his ploy was ended. He acted, dropping his invisibility and sending a double shardburst into the chest of the lead human. The human’s weapon discharged with a deafening bang, the projectile pinging off his shields and depleting an alarming amount of their strength.

The lead human fell back into the second human. Tyriel turned and ran. The second human’s weapon barked its booming roar. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

The first shot missed entirely.

The second and third shots slapped his shield and nearly depleted it.

The third shot punched through what remained. It shattered as it scraped across the armor on his back, sending fragments into the back of his arm. Another step and he was around the corner. The human shouted as he thundered down the stairs, all pretense of stealth gone.

“Eleven-ninety-nine, Eleven-ninety-nine! Shots fired! Officer down! Officer down!”

Tyriel turned another corner, into the kitchen. He had enough presence of mind to snag the fruit on his way through, before sprinting out the door the humans had smashed in. He tore across the yard, into the trees, to cover, but did not stop.

He cleared the ridge and ran down the hill. The portal is no option for me now. I must escape and evade detection until they give up looking for me. He slowed his break-neck pace as he neared the bottom of the hill, as much to keep from tripping and killing himself as to catch his breath. Glancing about, he headed North.

In the distance, he heard a haunting wail.

***

Is there nowhere they haven’t built?

Tyriel crouched atop a ridge, using the sparse scrub as cover as he scanned the horizon. It was closer to the house he had fled that morning than he cared for, but it was the tallest ridge around. Below him, to the east, lay the great highway. To the south, he knew, lay cities and towns. To the north, across a small river, he had found more cities and towns, forcing him to double-back.

Casting his gaze to the west, he frowned. It was a minor trick to magnify his vision, a spellform so simple and refined that it barely took any mana. There were more mountains that way, to be sure, with a number of open spaces. And more towns and cities, with roads, hamlets, farms, and cottages scattered throughout.

Even further, glimpsed between the mountains, was a sea. He had no way of knowing how large it was, but based on how far north and south he could see those glimpses, it wasn’t small.

Why did they come so fast? He wondered, slipping deeper into the brush as one of their flying machines thundered through the sky nearby. The strange, chiming devices seemed to be some sort of communication spellstruct, but how did they know to send people so quickly?He glanced across the intervening valley to the house in question, nearly three li away. Dozens of carriages and over a hundred people were swarming the area around the house. Why have they mustered such a response so quickly?

With a snort, he turned away, casting his gaze east, to the greater mountains that lay in the distance. There. I can hide there, for a time, at least. He glanced down, at the great highway beneath him. I must find a way across.

He made his way down the ridge, doubling-back on his trail. Avoiding the roads, sparse as they were, he continued North until he reached the river. He kept up a grueling pace as he turned to follow it northward, wending his way out of the mountains and back towards the great highway.

More of the whirling constructs thunder overhead, and several carriages with flashing lights atop passed by on the nearby roads. He took no chances, maintaining his blend at all times, even as he slinked through the bushes. Reaching the great highway, he nearly gave up hope when he realized the river turned to flow alongside it rather than passing underneath. Closer inspection, however, revealed there was a low gulley that the highway crossed on a pair of molded stone bridges, giving him the perfect place to cross.

He crept through the trees that grew under the bridges. Taking care to avoid the rows of houses that almost butt up against the highway, he discovered a set of strangely manicured fields. What purpose do these serve? he thought as he skirted along the edge of the bizarre fields and the mountains to their south.

The afternoon drawing to an end, he found a relatively secluded cluster of trees, past the strange city of houses and manicured fields, and settled down to catch his breath. Examining his arm for the first time, he grimaced in pain as he gently prodded the holes torn in his armor. Superficial, but potentially debilitating … He gingerly stuffed some ointment into the wound, then wrapped a bandage around his arm, armor and all. Proper treatment would have to wait until later.

He sat back and heaved a weary sigh, digging a packet of food out of his pack. Not much later … He savored the field ration. It’s hardly a grand dinner at Absalon, but it’s always amusing what tastes good when one was hungry.

He swallowed, shaking his head. By my count, I’ve travelled nearly twenty li since morning. Some of that was doubling-back, twice, but still … A legion would be hard-pressed to march as far without significantly depleting their mana stores.

Another construct thundered overhead in the distance as the afternoon became evening. Emperor’s bones, they are determined … He frowned, stowing the remains of the ration packet and reluctantly heaving his pack onto his back. They appear to be trying to cut me off … I need to get further away.

Heaving himself to his feet, he continued East at a much more reasonable pace, taking care to stick to cover. If not for blending and invisibility, they might have seen me already. That must have been more than a local lord’s family …

He had gone barely a hundred ki when the wind shifted and he caught a sound in the distance. A bark and brief howl. He glanced over his shoulder. That sounded like that cursed beast …Another bark, a baying howl. There’s more than one of them …

He hesitated a moment longer, then turned East and ran.

***

Tyriel gasped for breath. He desperately needed to rest, but could barely dare to stop. The beasts were gaining on him.

They must be scenting me … What magic do they have to create such beasts?

Dropping down the slope of another ridge, he knew he was not far from the edge of the greater mountains, and the wilderness he could lose himself in. If I can just lose these damnable creatures!

At the bottom of the hollow before the next ridge, he spied a stream. Taking a moment to gasp for breath, he snarled a grin, pulling the bloodied cloth off his arm.

A brief search revealed a suitable log. He tied the bloodied strips of cloth to the log, and a light cloak pulled from his bag. He heaved the small log over his shoulder and splashed through the stream for several ki before setting the log in the water. Spending some precious mana, he ensured it would float and gave it a minor blending enchantment, then sent it on its way.

He splashed a few more steps down stream before dunking himself as best he could, and splashing back up the way he came. As the stream started to narrow, he dunked himself again, then took off up the ridge, careful to leave no trail sign of his passage.

Skirting yet another damned orchard, this one at least seeming to be in the middle of nowhere, he finally reached the edge of the mountains he was seeking. It only took depleting half my reserves of mana crystals to keep myself going fast enough to out-pace the humans …

He stifled a grumble and made his way up a hollow, towards the beginning ridge of this greater mountain range. Utterly exhausted, he looked around the hollow he found himself in. This looks secluded enough to risk sleep. He found shelter in a cluster of trees that spoke to each other, but not to him. They knew no masters. Cursed things,he thinks as he lays down, closing his eyes to sleep. We will teach them their place.

***

His eyes snapped open, shadows of the dreamscape scattering from his mind. There it was again. Baying in the distance. Faint flashes of light, maybe a li and a half down the hollow. Do they not rest?

He heaved himself up with a grunt and started running.

Episode 10

This was not a good day.

Michaels surveyed the bodies laid out before him in the pavilion-turned-morgue. Three Marines, none of them older than twenty-three, and one German Shepherd.

“Are you sure we didn’t get any of the bastards?” General Zoroiwchak asked. His uniform was barely ruffled, despite having spent the night in the wrong FOB on lockdown.

“No, sir,” Lieutenant Colonel Mayhew said, shaking his head. His sleepless night reflected in the slight bags under his eyes. “There’s a blood trail that leads over the berm and into the woods, and we’ve got a dog team backed by half a platoon on it now, but no bodies so far.”

Not fast enough … Michaels resisted the urge to rub his own baggy eyes. Between the lockdown and the sweep of the base, the elves have enough of a head start … They’re probably across the river and halfway to keeblerville by now.

“How did they get in?” he asked. “The Ganlin gave us those beacons to set up around the FOB, to disrupt their invisibility.”

“They did, but they didn’t give us enough,” Mayhew shook his head. “Not for how much we’ve had to expand the perimeter.”

“Have they been shorting us?” Sergeant Major Miller asked.

Michaels suppressed a frown. Miller always struck him as being too quick to throw the blame on someone than was appropriate, especially for a regimental Sergeant Major.

“No, I don’t think so,” Mayhew shook his head. “The reports my men have given me say they’re struggling even with the supplies we’ve shared with them.” He sighed, rubbing gunk out of his eye. “And the number of beacons I’ve seen set up around their own camp indicate that they don’t have enough left to cover themselves.”

“So they slipped in through the cracks?” Colonel Anders asked.

“Essentially, sir, yes,” Sergeant Major Donalds said. The broad-shouldered man resembled a bulldog. Michaels knew him by his reputation for being as tenacious and stubborn as one, but he looked just as tired as his commanding officer. “The way the goat-cat wizards explained it, the beacons’ effectiveness starts to taper off after a certain distance. At the edges, it’s almost nothing, and a skilled Keebler wizard can keep their shit stable through it.”

“So we don’t have enough overlap?”

“Worse, sir,” Donalds said. “We’ve got total gaps in coverage. Not all the beacons have been moved since initially set up, but we’ve identified some total gaps that you could drive an Abrams through, and the whole perimeter is scattered with weak areas.”

“How many got in? Are there any still inside?”

“We’re not entirely sure,” Mayhew said. “But between the reports, what little security camera coverage we had in the area, and two Go-Pros, we’re pretty certain it was a team of eight.”

“We did a thorough sweep of the base with dogs,” Donalds said. He nodded at the slain Shepherd. “Sergeant Razer caught on to them right quick, led her team straight to the bastards. Whatever they’ve got, it don’t block a dog’s nose.”

Zoroiwchak nodded, then sighed. “Let’s let these boys lie in peace.”

Michaels gave a silent nod to the fallen Marines, paying his final respects. They weren’t his men, all of Second Battalion had been moved back to Tolkien, but they were still Marines.

“Do we have any idea what their objectives were?” Zoroiwchak asked as he stepped out of the tent, followed closely by his aide and the rest of the party.

“Not for sure, no,” Mayhew said. “Nothing has been identified as missing, and they hadn’t gotten very far into the camp before Sergeant Razer led Corporal Ramirez and Corporal Goldberg right to them.”

“We swept the camp for anything they might have left behind,” Donalds said, “Even got a couple of the goat-cat wizards to come over and scan for anything they might have deployed, came up with nothing.”

“They were probably doing recon,” Michaels said.

“That’s what we figured, too,” Mayhew nodded.

“Well, now they know we’re vulnerable,” Miller said. “And it cost us three Marines and a dog, and five more injured to tell them that.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a cellphone. Huh, this was a deadspot in the FOB yesterday. Must have gotten more repeaters up.

Zoroiwchak’s aide, a young lieutenant, pulled the phone out of his pocket and answered it. After a brief conversation, his eyebrows shot up, and he held the phone out. “Sir, you need to take this.”

Zoroiwchak raised an eyebrow and took the phone. “General Zoroiwchak. Sir. … Shit. Aye, sir. Yes, sir. I concur, sir. Yes, sir, we can make that happen. No sir. Will they need support? Aye, sir. I’ll have units standing by just in case. Yes, sir. We’ll get it locked down, sir.” He hung up the phone, handing it back to his aide.

“Anders, get Miramar on the horn, tell them to pull half the stockpile we raided from the elves and make it ready for immediate delivery.” He turned to Mayhew. “Send a message to the keshmin that we need more of those disruptor shitasses ASAP, and that they can have as many of the mana crystals we liberated from the elves as they need to make them. We need a solid perimeter around Williams and Tolkien with no gaps.” He turned back to his aide “Clemson, get on the horn with the MWD commanders, tell them we need a continuous patrol around both perimeters. We need every dog that can be spared sent to the front for patrols, and we need them here yesterday.”

“What happened?” Michaels asked.

He scowled. “One of the bastards slipped through to Earth.”

“Shit.”

“How bad is it?” Mayhew asked.

“He murdered a family and was camping in their house. County Sheriffs were sent to check on the family this morning, and he killed one of the deputies before getting away.”

“Shit.”

“Has it hit the media yet?” Miller asked.

“Not yet, but they’re already standing up a state-wide manhunt, and every three-letter agency between San Diego and DC is throwing their hat in the ring. It’s not going to stay quiet for long.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Yeah.” Zoroiwchak shook his head. “We need to get on top of this clusterfuck. This magic bullshit they have is one hell of an advantage. Getting some kind of augment integration with the keshmin wizards just took on a whole new priority, and so did figuring out whether or not any of us can play with magic.”

“Are the Berkley boys ready? The artificer my Marines adopted cleared medical, and we sent him Earth-side yesterday for more scans after he volunteered to share his medical data.”

“Yeah, I saw your brief on that. I’ll get on the horn with Berkley and make sure they step up the pace. When is the wizard team supposed to show up?”

“They’re selecting their artificers now. They’re supposed to arrive on Tuesday.”

“Good. Get them sorted and start training hard. This new shitstorm is going to have us on lockdown for a bit, but General Langstrom’s offensive is aggressive enough as it is. Once we’re sure our balls are covered, there’s going to be a huge demand for hell to pay.”

“No doubt, sir.”

He looked as his aide answered another call. “I’ve gotta go deal with this fuck show. Your boys did good the other day, but their job’s not done. Make sure they’re squared and ready to rumble come Tuesday. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Aye, sir.”

*****

“Man, this fucking sucks …” Gomez groaned, banging the back of his head on the hesco wall he sat against.

“I know, man,” Kawalski said. “This fucking lockdown bullshit is really cutting into our profit margin.”

“Of course, your chief complaint is not being able to scam other Marines out of their hard-earned pay.” Bradford rolled her eyes.

“It ain’t no scam!” he said. “It’s free enterprise!”

“Can you even spell free enterprise?”

“I don’t need to spell it if it’s making me money!”

Bradford snorted, shaking her head. I’m not going to dignify that with a response …

“I’m just sick of being on watch or on patrol,” Edison said. “What are they trying to do, hope we just stumble into some invisible bastards by chance?”

“We just had eighteen hours of liberty back on Earth,” Dubois said, rolling his eyes. “We don’t get to complain about anything.”

Edison snorted. “I’m a Marine. I can complain about everything.”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to complain about your mom,” Gomez said.

“Hey, my mother is a nice lady! She works very hard every night at Goldfingers.”

Kimber laughed. “I’m sure Kawalski was her favorite customer, then.”

“Kawalski is every stripper’s favorite customer,” Bradford said, rolling her eyes.

Rinn perked an ear at the discussion, but opted not to join in. It was the most he had moved since he had flopped down against the wall.

“Seriously, though, this fucking sucks.” Davies shook his head. “How are we supposed to catch the bastards if they can turn fucking invisible?”

“Elven commandos, man.” Stephens said, staring across the cleared field on the other side of the wall into the trees beyond. “Fuckin’ elven commandos. Pulled some Legolas bullshit.”

“Did anyone know the guys who died?” Dubois asked.

“Nah,” Kimber said. “They were all from Third Battalion.”

“I think Sampson might have fucked one of them,” Kawalski said.

“You think Sampson might have fucked everyone,” Bradford gave him a side-ways glance.

“He might have!”

“Ugghh …” Bradford rolled her eyes again.

“Mnngh.” Rinn groaned. “Shsh.” He waved a hand in their direction.

Bradford laughed. “What’s the matter, Shields?” She squatted next to him and poked him in the side, looking for a ticklish spot. “Party a little too hard last night?”

Groaning, he tucked his arm in and leaned away from her, trying to protect his side. Instead, he slid along the wall until he fell over.

Bradford squatted down and poked him some more. “C’mon, Shields, how’re you gonna keep your stave going if you pass out? We don’t have anything else that can see invisible keeblers.”

He groaned, curling into a ball. “Doesn’t need me. Set to automagic.”

Bradford blinked, snorting a laugh. Is that … Is that a fucking word, now?

The distraction was her undoing. She failed to notice Rinn slipping his tail into one of the straps on her pack until the sharp tug threw off the balance of her squat and she found herself on her ass.

She blinked in surprise, then joined the rest of the squad in laughter. “You sneaky bastard!”

Rinn flicked his tail up to press the end against her mouth. “Shhhhh …” She swatted his tail away as they all laughed again.

“Heads up, here comes trouble,” Dubois said, nodding towards a Humvee barreling their way.

“It’s not time for our reliefs, yet, is it?” Davies asked.

“Nope,” said Miller.

“C’mon, shields, time to put your armor back on.” Bradford poked him in the side again.

Rinn groaned, but sat up and dragged the plate carrier over. Bradford helped him put it on, then hauled him to his feet.

“I can barely move in this thing. How can you stand to run in it?”

“Lots of PT,” Gomez said.

“And knee problems,” Kimber added.

“Yeah,” Kawalski grunted. “I figure I’ll have enough joint damage by the time I get out, I’ll be making E-Five for life.”

Further conversation was forestalled by the Humvee as it roared up and ground to a halt with a squeal of breaks. The doors swung open as Lieutenant Meyers and Staff Sergeant Rickles stepped out. A pair of MPs stepped out behind them, followed by two dogs and their handlers squeezed into the back.

“Second Artificer Ahyat,” Meyers said, stepping up to the squad. “You’re to come with us for questioning. Rex and Lucy will cover your sector.”

“What kind of questioning, sir?” Kawalski said, immediately on edge. The rest of the squad fell in behind Bradford, and she saw Kimber and Sampson putting themselves between Rinn and the Lieutenant.

“The technical kind,” Rickles said, giving them a small, calming wave. “He’s more valuable for his expertise than as a sentry right now.”

The squad relaxed a bit, though Kawalski still gave the MPs a suspicious eye.

“I’d still like to come along, sir,” Bradford said, stepping forward. “He falls under my command. If you’re going to be questioning him, I should be there.” She paused, then added as the thought occurred to her. “You might also need someone to translate.”

Meyers gave her a considering look, then nodded. “Very well. Pile in.”

“Aye, sir,” she nodded, then glanced over her shoulder. “Dubois, you’re in charge until I get back.”

“Aye, Sergeant.”

She caught Davies’ frown as she turned back to the Lieutenant and she and Rinn followed him to the Humvee. Technically Davies is more senior, but … If he wanted to maintain seniority, he shouldn’t have gone sickbay commando.

Bradford put the concern out of her mind as Rinn passed her his stave and climbed into the back of the Humvee after her. He groaned as he settled himself into a position that had a passing resemblance to comfortable.

She grinned and tapped him on the arm, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “Heh, they sent two dog teams to replace you, and you were mostly passed out and hungover.”

Rinn snorted, taking his stave back and curling up with it as he leaned against the bulkhead. He smirked like he was going to give her a smart remark, but the Humvee jolted, bouncing his head off the bulkhead, and he just whimpered and groaned instead.

***

“At ease, Sergeant.” The tall, lanky, Navy Lieutenant shut the door behind him. “I’m Lieutenant Bauder, Office of Naval Intelligence.” He shifted a folder and notebook to his left hand and offered a handshake as Bradford introduced herself and Rinn. “To be clear, Sergeant, Second Artificer, nobody’s in trouble, but we are in desperate need of information, technical and non-technical, and there are few people in a better position to provide that than yourself,” he nodded at Rinn.

“I will share what I can, sir,” Rinn said, standing almost at attention just to keep himself from swaying. Bradford repeated his words for Bauder’s benefit.

“Excellent,” Bauder said, dropping his folder and notebook down on the table and sitting across from Bradford and Rinn. “Let’s start with invisibility.”

Bradford glanced around the room as she and Rinn returned to their seats. They had barely been sitting for more than a minute before the Lieutenant had arrived. More an “unfinished closet” than “interrogation room” vibe, but it’s not far off …

Bauder opened the folder and flipped to a blank page in his notebook, clicking his pen a few times as he found his starting point in the papers in the folder. “We understand that they have two versions. Is this correct?”

“Yes.” Rinn nodded. Bradford continued her translation. “They have their blending, and true invisibility.”

“Can you elaborate on ‘blending?’”

“Yes.” He took a moment to collect his thoughts. His ears drooped, and Bradford could tell his movements were slower and more deliberate than usual, but he was putting on a strong front. “Blending is … a blending of their appearance with their surroundings. Light does not pass through them, but they create the appearance that it does.”

He paused to allow Bradford to translate, and she got the feeling he was using the break to piece more words together.

Bauder nodded, jotting an abbreviated version down on his notepad. “Is this effect biological? Is it their skin changing?” He added in response to Rinn’s uncertain look.

Some of our expressions translate really well … Bradford thought.

“No.” Rinn started to shake his head, then immediately thought better of it. “It is … An illusion they create, that covers anything they are wearing or holding.”

“It sounds like active camouflage, sir,” Bradford added at the end of her translation.

“Indeed,” the Lieutenant nodded. He looked back to Rinn. “What are the advantages? The limitations? How good of an illusion is it?”

“The quality of the blend can vary from one elf to the next, but they can’t perfectly recreate what is behind them, and even the best can be seen at close range by an observant watcher.” Rinn paused for another translation. “So far as we can tell, it requires more energy to maintain than an elf can sustain indefinitely, but it’s a relatively light draw on their reserves. Rapid shifts in the background, or in lighting, can also give them away.”

Bauder looked up from his notes. “Is this a …” he glanced at another sheet of notes. “An artifice that the keshmin can create?”

“No,” Rinn slowly shook his head. “We have tried, and there are experiments, but … The spell structure is incredibly refined and complex. We can create illusions, but not to nearly the same detail or precision, nor that conform so completely.”

“And what about ‘true invisibility?’” Bauder asked, jotting a note down then flipping to a fresh page.

“True Invisibility is … it’s just that. They are truly invisible. Light passes right through them.”

Bauder nodded. “Yes. We have limited data, but between the various vehicle-mounted sensors in the first battle, and security sensors we set up around FOB Williams, it seems that their invisibility covers not just the visible light spectrum, but also IR and near-UV. Do you know if their invisibility covers the full EM spectrum, or just parts of it?”

Rinn frowned, slowly cocking his head to the side. “I do not know what you speak of.”

Bradford turned to him after translating his confusion. “All light is made of what we call photons, unimaginably tiny particles that move incredibly fast.”

“That sounds like the Speck Theory of light. It proposes that light is made of individual specks, rather than waves in the ether, which is the accepted understanding.”

“Well … it’s, um, both, actually … Except there’s no ether.” Bradford smiled as his confusion deepened.

“We can discuss the peculiarities of wave-particle duality at another time.” Bauder said. “The important part is that photons have a frequency, and the colors we see, and whether we even see them, depend on that frequency. Above visible light is ultra-violet light, then X-Rays and Gamma Rays. Below visible light is infra-red, microwaves, radio waves.”

Rinn shook his head. “I am not the most scholarly keshmin, but I attended the University at Yagyhanae, one of the most highly regarded universities in the Kingdom. Nobody spoke of light as anything but what we could see.”

“I see,” Bauder said, writing in his notebook. “And what are the limitations of true invisibility?”

“Energy,” Rinn said. “It is a much more energy-intensive spell, and we have never seen them maintain it for any great length of time. Hours at most.”

Bauder nodded, writing more notes. “And can keshmin create anything similar?”

Rinn slowly shook his head. “No. The sophistication of the spell … It is much harder to glean from observation … Articulating the spell should be possible, but the design is so intricate and refined, even what fragments we have been able to capture.” He placed a hand to the side of his head. “Not that we haven’t tried. There have been experiments, using recorded fragments of the spell and attempting to fill in the blanks, but none that determined anything.” He snorted. “I remember Professor Simyahn complaining up a storm about some of them, and how they were causing resonance interference with the crystal experiments he was trying to perform.”

Bradford tilted her head after translating the last comment. “Was the experiment on mana crystals?”

“No,” Rinn said, massaging his skull just forward of the base of his ear. “It was with galena crystals. They are a very poor mana capacitor, barely even count for it, but abundant enough. Professor Simyahn wanted to see if there was a way to make more use of them.” He sighed at an unpleasant memory. “He would rave at length about mana capacitors so cheap and abundant they could replace raw mana crystals as a storage medium.” He slid his hand up to rub at the base of his right horn. “Nothing ever came of his experiments. He insisted that it was because of the invisibility experiments, that they were causing resonance in his crystal arrays, disrupting his experiments, even though no mana connection was ever identified.” He snorted again. “Simyahn was always a crazy, old coot.”

“Maybe not …” Bauder said, exchanging a glance with Bradford. Rinn cocked an ear at him.

“Your professor might have made an early crystal radio set …” Rinn turned his ear to her. “Not my area of expertise,” she laughed, holding up a hand, before glancing at Bauder. “But, sir, if he had …”

The lieutenant nodded. “Yes. This could be important. We’ll definitely look into it.” He jotted another note down, then flipped to a clean page. “For now, though, there are more questions.”

Bradford heard Rinn suppress a whine, but he sat up straight as the questions dragged on.

“Let’s talk about the elves themselves.” Bauder flipped to a new page. “What are their physical capabilities?”

“They are fast, and agile, and have significant strength in short bursts.” He rolled his ears while Bradford translated.

“How fast can an elf run?”

His snout twitched. “Faster than a keshmin in a sprint, slower over any considerable distance, unless they have magical support.”

“How fast can a keshmin run?”

“In a sprint?” He flicked an ear “A hundred tails in ten, twelve seconds. Without armor.”

“And long distance?”

“Maybe seven, eight royal miles in an hour, for a few hours.” His head tilted one way, then the other. “A properly equipped soldier can march eight or nine royal miles in a day. Fifteen, maybe twenty with a long, forced march.”

This is getting old really fast, Bradford thought as she repeated him in English.

“How long can an elf run for?”

Rinn leaned back, rubbing at the base of a horn. “Without mana supplementation, only for a few minutes at speed, maybe an hour at a jog. With mana supplementation, for as long as they have mana reserves.”

“What do you mean by ‘Mana supplementation?’”

“Elves can sustain themselves and stave off exhaustion by bolstering themselves with external mana supplies.”

“Interesting …” Bauder raised an eyebrow. “Do you know how often, or how much they need to eat? Can this replace their need to eat?”

“Elven armies are at least partly sustained by magic,” Rinn said, nodding. “And it is believed that elves can sustain themselves exclusively on mana for a time.” He sighed, continuing to massage his skull. “I don’t know the details of elven dietary habits. They only eat plants, and look down on us for eating flesh.”

Bauder snorted as Bradford translated. “Sounds like a few humans I know …” he muttered, shaking his head. “What kind of magical abilities do they have? Do all elves have magic?”

Rinn nodded, slowly. “All known elves have magical abilities and draw mana from the ether. This was known for long before the war, when the elves were merely isolationist.”

“What about your people?”

“Only some keshmin do.” He frowned. “Estimates vary, but the generally accepted figure is between ten and fifteen percent of all keshmin can touch the ether. Only about half of those are potent enough to be useful in combat.”

“How do elven magical abilities compare to keshmin?”

Sighing, Rinn scratched the back of his head. “Elven magical abilities exceed keshmin abilities on the whole. Elves naturally draw more mana from the ether, enough to power noteworthy offensive and defensive spells, and they have significant natural mana reserves.”

His hand went back to rubbing his skull, between the base of his horn and his brow. “Keshmin savants can exceed most elven abilities, but even the greatest savant is limited by roughly the same ambient draw cap as any other keshmin, and can’t match an elf for power output without external mana sources.”

“You mean mana crystals?”

“Yes.”

“And where do mana crystals come from?”

“Elves and keshmin can both draw mana from the ether and condense it into crystals, producing new crystals or growing existing crystals.” Rinn held his hands up as if pulling something out of the air and compressing it. “Elves can condense mana into crystal form at a rate at least two to three times greater than the rate of a keshmin.”

“Is this where all mana crystals come from?”

Rinn slowly shook his head. “No. Most mana crystals used by keshmin are mined. We’re not sure what causes their formation,” he added, anticipating Bauder’s next question.

“What about the elves?”

Rinn frowned, staring through the table. “Elves can use mage towers and other means to drain people of life force.” He rolled his ears and tugged at a horn. “At least, that’s what was thought to happen when such magics were used.”

Bauder raised an eyebrow. Bradford suppressed a shudder at the memory of keshmin chained to a mage tower.

“A … more modern understanding,” Rinn said, deliberately placing his hand back on the table. “Is that such magic employs a process that forces them to draw etherial mana at an accelerated rate, while also force-converting the body’s natural energy stores into mana, possibly to power the process.” He paused, and not just for Bradford to translate, his ears flicking down. “The full details are not known. Such magics were outlawed across the kingdoms centuries before they consolidated under Ganlin. We didn’t know the elves even practiced such magic until the war.”

Bradford felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as she relayed the translation, only made worse by Bauder’s next question.

“What do they use such magic for?”

“The elves use the process to turn people into living batteries to directly power artifices.” He paused, his ears flicking back to his skull. “It is also possible, in theory, to create mana crystals in this way. We have never observed it, but there is no mechanical reason why they couldn’t.”

Bradford’s stomach felt like it wanted to turn inside-out.

Bauder sat back in shock for a moment, but pressed forward. “All those crystals we captured at the elven camp?”

Rinn nodded, his hand moving back up to slowly massage his skull. “It is suspected that a significant portion of the mana crystals used by the elves came from keshmin prisoners.”

“But, if …” Bradford’s stomach dropped through her chair as she made another realization. “They’re fucking vampires.”

Rinn flicked a confused ear at her, tilting his head to glance at her.

“They can live off mana, and they suck people dry of it.” She snarled, horror and rage battling for dominance. “They turn people into mana and eat them!”

“Yes. That is …” His ears drooped and he nodded. “We believe that is so.”

Bauder took a moment to recompose himself. He jotted several notes down, then flipped to a clean page. “Can an individual elf boost his endurance, or does that take a group or more sophisticated equipment than an individual can carry?”

“No, it is something that all elves can do.” Rinn shrugged his ears. “Our understanding is that it works in the same way that any keshmin artificer would draw on mana, but they are able to apply it to themselves in ways that we are not.” He firmly shook his head, and immediately grimaced in regret. “Ugh. Not even the worst dark artificers in legend and lore were able to sustain themselves with mana like that.”

“How much mana would a single elf go through to sustain heavy activity for a day?”

“I am not sure.”

“Best guess.”

Rinn frowned, concentrating. “The elven armies, they … They maneuver with an economy of endurance.” He rubbed the other side of his face. “They luxuriate in an abundance of mana, but they still conserve their maneuvers. I think it takes a lot of mana for them to supplement their natural endurance.”

“How long do you think a single elf could sustain himself with just what he could carry on his person? How rapidly would he be depleted?”

Bradford narrowed her eyes at the pointed questions.

“I don’t know …” Rinn carefully shook his head. “I am a shield artificer, not a physician or a naturalist.”

“One of them got through, didn’t they, sir?” Bradford asked after the translation.

Rinn’s ears perked up, lagging for only a fraction of a second.

“I am not at liberty to answer that question, Sergeant,” Bauder said, his pen held in place above his notepad.

“You just did, sir.” Bradford pressed her lips together.

“I can help.” Rinn slid his chair back and pushed himself to his feet.

“Can you pin-point an elf’s exact location?” Bauder looked up at him, his pen still poised over his tablet.

“… No.”

“Can you track an elf from miles away?”

“No …”

“Then I’m not sure you can actually be of much help.”

Rinn sighed, sitting back down, his ears drooping.

Bauder eyed him for a moment, then set his pen down on his notepad and leaned forward. “You’ve already helped a lot. We’re lacking for intel more than anything else right now.” He sat back with a shake of his head, picking his pen up and absently twirling it in his fingers. “There’s a county-wide manhunt drawing resources from across the state. We’ve got dogs on the trail, and the county sheriffs haven’t asked for military help.”

Rinn raised his right ear, quirking it in confusion.

“Rules and laws,” Bradford said, resisting the urge to ruffle his ears, as that would be unprofessional. “The military is kept strictly separate from law enforcement and civil matters. Things tend to get messy when the military is also the police.”

Rinn started opening his mouth like he wanted to ask more, but closed it again when Bauder leaned forward and continued.

“Right now, we need intel more than anything. Anything you can tell us about their capabilities, vulnerabilities, equipment, armor, anything.”

“Right …” Rinn scrunched his eyes shut for a moment, refocusing himself. “Armor …”

He took a deep breath. “Elven armor is light and thin, but heavily enchanted. It is laced and embossed with gold and platinum to help hold enchantments.”

“What is it made of, mostly?”

“It is made of steel, but barely thick enough to be rigid on its own without enchantment. Most of its strength comes from those enchantments. They make it strong enough to turn or deflect any regular blade if it doesn’t find a gap.”

“Is keshmin armor the same?”

The advantages that could give us are obvious … Bradford thought.

Rinn shook his head. “Ganlin armor is rarely so enchanted. Making such armor is certainly within the capabilities of a decent artificer, but the Royal Host’s Lord Generals typically do not deem it to be worth the cost in time, materials, and mana, at least for common soldiers. We mainly rely on bolstering our arms and armor with active enchantments provided by battlefield artificers, like myself.”

“Is this something you can do for us?” Bradford asked, heading off the Lieutenant’s next question.

“Yes,” Rinn nodded. “Active shields are my specialty, but all field artificers are trained to bolster their lines and columns with active enhancements.”

“How does this active enhancement compare to the elves … fixed enchantment?”

“Favorably enough, if we have the mana to support it. Even bolstered by active artificer support, our weapons often struggle to penetrate the armor worn by elven regulars, but they have the same problem when our armor is properly reinforced.” He frowned. “Except for Gemblades.”

“Gemblades?”

“The elven elite regiments. They have even further-enchanted armor and mana gem-powered blades that can cut through even artificer-enhanced keshmin armor.”

“Combat reports noted that some elves had shields, while others did not.”

“Yes,” Rinn slowly bobbed his head. “Elves trained as mages with mana gem-powered staffs can project personal shields in addition to general shield work, and offensive spell casting.” He paused a moment, then added, “Senior elven regulars sometimes have devices that project weaker shields.”

“You’ve mentioned mana gems twice now. Is that another term for mana crystal?”

“No.” Rinn shook his head. “Mana gems are made of condensed mana, like mana crystals, but they have a much more intricate and complex structure. They’re very difficult, and somewhat dangerous to make, and very specialized.”

“How so?”

“Gemblade mana gems can’t be turned into staff mana gems, and vice-versa. They’re also tuned specifically to the creator elf, and not easily used by even other elves, let alone non-elves. We haven’t figured out how to make them, either,” he added.

“So, an elf can either be a gemblade, or a wizard, not both?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard of …” He tugged at an ear. “I suppose it’s possible, but we’ve never seen it.” He released his ear, rolling them both in a shrug. “There wasn’t a whole lot known about the elves before the war, but one of the things we did know was that they held their mana gems very precious and dear, because it was an arduous and dangerous process to create them that many elves never even undertook.”

Bauder’s pocket buzzed in three short pulses, interrupting his next question before he could ask it. He pulled out his phone, swiping up on the screen to check the message. “That’s enough questions for now. You’ll have plenty more tomorrow at the lab,” he said, putting his phone back in his pocket and collecting his notes. He stood and left the room with barely a glance at either of them.

Rinn heaved a sigh of relief, sagging in on himself as the lieutenant left. Damn, he looks so miserable …Bradford glanced at her watch. At least it’s past the time we were supposed to be relieved …

Bradford looked over at Rinn as the Humvee turned down their “street.” It’s a five-minute ride, and he’s already asleep … She shook her head. Not that any of us are doing much better after getting racked out at 0300 …

She glanced back over at him, smiling as his ear twitched in his sleep. He’s fucking adorable … She smirked as she considered startling him awake, but dismissed the idea. I don’t have the heart for it …

Leaning over, she gently tapped his shoulder instead. “Hey, Shields, we’re home.”

“Mm?” he said, lifting his head up and blearily looking around as his ears rolled, then swiveled forward and back twice before settling into a droopy version of his normal rearward sweep.

That’s the third time I’ve seen his ears do that when he wakes up … She chuckled softly. He’s got a boot-up sequence!

The Humvee jerked to a stop with a squeal of brakes. Bradford tapped the back of the driver’s seat before hopping out. “Thanks for the lift, Mac!”

“Any time, Jabs!” Corporal Mackenzie held her hand out her window for a fist-bump. “Just don’t forget that beer you owe me!”

“Next time we’re not in a warzone, I promise!” She waved at her friend and rounded the other side of the Humvee as Rinn finished his slower exit.

“Is the day over yet?” he asked as the Humvee pulled away.

“Afraid not, Shields,” Dubois said, stepping out of the squad’s tent to meet them. “Sergeant,” he nodded a greeting. “Word’s just come down from HQ, they’re mustering up the whole battalion to start putting up buildings and slapping together a training course for this ‘joint tactical development project.’” The rest of the squad started trudging out of the tent, their spirits lifted slightly to see Shields returned unharmed. “Our company’s been tasked with putting up prefabs.”

Bradford sighed as a small train of trucks rolled up. “Of course we have.”

“Alright, devil dogs!” First Sergeant Khatri shouted, standing in the bed of the first uncovered truck, looking over the cab. “Mount up! Barracks and classrooms ain’t gonna build themselves!”

“Cutting into my profits …” Kawalski muttered as he trudged past Bradford. Rinn sagged and wearily fell in behind him, climbing into the back of the truck with the Marines. She gave him a sympathetic look and climbed in beside him.

“Fucking pogue work …” Davies grumbled, trudging up well behind the rest of the squad. He grunted as he heaved himself into the truck. “We already spent six hours on watch after four hours on alert … Can’t they find someone else to do this?”

“Say again your last, Marine!” Khatri shouted, fixing Davies in his sights. “Is an honest day’s work not good enough for you?”

“No, First Sergeant!” Davies shouted, sitting up at attention.

Khatri eyed Davies for a moment, before rounding on Bradford. “Sergeant Bradford, I find your squad’s lack of enthusiasm to be unsatisfactory! If you do not correct this issue, I’ll assign you a task that is more motivatin’! Is that understood, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Yes, First Sergeant!” Bradford snapped out in response. She resisted the urge to glare at Davies. He still doesn’t know when to keep his fucking mouth shut.

***

“Just think about it, though,” Edison said, setting down the frame he was carrying, and bracing it while Kimber walked it upright. “What would you do if you had two dicks?”

“Two dicks?” Kimber asked, giving him a look through the frame.

“Yeah, like, two whole dicks.” Edison vaguely pointed over his shoulder. “There’s no-shit a guy who was born with a genetic mutation that gave him two, whole, fully-functional dicks.”

“Two fully functioning dicks?” Sampson asked around the handful of screws he held in his mouth. He started running them into the frame with a screw gun, securing it to the previous section of wall.

“I’m telling you, the possibilities are endless!” Edison grinned.

“Are we talking side-by-side, or one over the other?” Kimber asked.

“Side-by-side,” Edison said. “The guy in the article had them one right next to the other.”

“Brah … Do they, like, both work? Or is, like, one on service, and the other off service?”

“They both work together. Dude, I’m telling you, the possibilities are endless.”

“You could put one in each hole!” Kawalski said, hauling over a sheet of drywall, holding it up while Dubois ran another screw gun.

“You could have a dedicated poop dick!” Gomez laughed, hauling over another sheet of drywall.

“Ha, can you imagine?” Kawalski said. “’Hey, no, don’t suck on that one, that’s my poop dick!’”

“Are we really having this conversation?” Bradford asked, parking a fresh wheel barrow full of joint compound next to the slowly-forming wall.

“Hey, I bet you could go be a male porn star and completely skip the gay porn stage,” Kimber said.

“Oh, fuck, yeah!” Kawalski said, stepping away from the wall and walking over to the stack of drywall to retrieve another sheet. “Instant porn-star status!”

“I guess we are …” she said, rolling her eyes as she grabbed a hawk and knife from the wheel barrow and started filling in joints. Rinn slowly pushed himself up from where he had been sitting against the wall, waiting for her return.

“You’d be a superstar, until the novelty ran out,” Dubois said, grabbing another handful of screws from the tub he was sharing with Samspon.

“Yeah, but then you could just cash out and retire,” Kimber said, grabbing another frame set with Edison.

“True,” Dubois said.

“What about you, Jabs?” Davies asked, leaning against the pallet of gypsum bags, waiting to mix another batch of joint compound. “What would you do if a guy offered to give you a double-barreled dicking?”

“I’d tell him he’d fit better in your asshole,” she said without looking up as she scooped another lump of mud onto her board.

“Ohhh snap!” Sampson said as the rest of the squad jeered at Davies.

“But, real talk, Jabs,” Kawalski said. “Would you fuck a guy with two dicks?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I dunno, seems like double the work, and he probably still wouldn’t be able to make me happy.”

“I always leave my girl happy,” Davies smirked.

“Your hand don’t count,” Miller said, poking his head over the wall as he and Stephens screwed in the next rafter.

“Ohhh, Miller from left field!” Sampson grinned, snagging another handful of screws.

“It’s not with my hand, asshole,” Davies glared at Miller.

“Your ass piece don’t count, ‘neither,” Kimber said.

“I’ll have you know I’ve been with plenty of women!”

“Oh?” Kawalski asked. “And how many of them were naked?”

Bradford had to hide her smirk as Davies started to turn red.

“So, anyway, about the double dicks,” Edison said, cutting off Davies’ rejoinder. “We’re talking some serious crazy shit you could do.”

“You’re awfully obsessed with these double-dicks for a straight guy,” Sampson said, giving Edison a sly look. “You sure you’re not interested in a little sperm gurgling?”

“What? No! It’s just …” he sputtered as the rest of the squad laughed at him. “I want two dicks! What’s wrong with wanting two dicks!?”

“Hey, I’ll give you two dicks any time you want,” Kawalski said, slapping Edison on the ass as he passed by.

“Man, fuck off!”

Bradford shook her head, laughing as she finished her second sheet of drywall. She stepped over and helped Rinn finish his first as the squad continued to discuss the virtues of the double-dicked man. “Are keshmin soldiers this bad?” she asked.

“Hm?” he asked, rolling a drooped ear up to focus on her.

“Nevermind,” she said, dropping her board and knife back in the wheel barrow while she waited for more drywall and framing to go up.

“M’kay …” He muttered, leaning against the newly-erected wall.

Bradford shook her head and stepped away from the squad’s project to survey the rest of the battalion’s efforts.

A veritable city was being erected before her eyes. Dozens of new buildings were going up. Several already had Marines hauling tables, chairs, desks, and cots inside. Others were busy shoveling out gravel to make a street. I swear, I can hear a Gunny somewhere yelling at Marines to keep off his grass.

Beyond the micro city, a whole new obstacle course was going up, and beyond that, bulldozers were piling up berms for what was supposed to be a new firing range. More Marines were building hesco walls to enclose the entire compound.

Are they going to have the whole battalion training here? She wondered. Why didn’t they just leave us at Williams? She shook her head, deciding it best to not try to understand the mysterious reasonings of the top brass, and turned back just in time to see Rinn draining the last of a Bang down his throat.

“Rinn, no!” She shouted, racing over to snatch at the can. “Don’t give him that! Are you crazy?” She was too late. The can was empty.

“Man, he was draggin’ ass …” Kawalski said.

“We don’t know what it could do to him!” She looked at the empty can. “Shit, this is the extra-strength kind, too!”

“Yeah, that’s all I bought,” Kawalski shrugged.

“What’s wrong?” Rinn asked. “I feel fine. It was … sweet, and tangy, and fizzy, and it made my nose tingle, but I feel fine.” His ear twitched. “In fact, I feel a lot more awake.”

Bradford eyed him up and down, then sighed, crumpling the can and tossing it to Kawalski. “Just … Keep an eye on him. We don’t want his heart to explode.”

Rinn’s ears perked up. The tip of his left ear twitched slightly. “I think you’re exaggerating. I feel really good now.”

Five minutes later …

“I CAN FEEL THE SKY!” Rinn spun in circles, arms raised above his head, while standing on a stack of drywall.

“I think I might have fucked up …” Kawalski said, staring up at him, along with the rest of the squad.

“You think?” Bradford asked.

“I have soooooooooooo much energy!!!” He stopped spinning, eyes wide, ears straight up, the left one twitching regularly. He stretched his hands out before him and shot sparks of magic from his hands. “HAHAHAHA!!!” he cackled. “I HAVE UNLIMITED POWER!!!!”

“Jesus Christ, you turned him into fucking Palpatine!”

“Um … My bad …”

Bradford sighed, rubbing a hand across her face. I thought it had already been a long day …

Episode 11

Rinn groaned as the van jostled over another rut on the road through the Earth-side fortifications. He massaged at the migraine growing behind his eyeball. I’m not sure if this smaller van bounces more than the last one, or if the road’s just gotten worse …

“Hungover again, Rinn?” Bradford asked, poking him in the side. He grunted, drawing away from her. “You need to scale back on the late-night partying.”

“I wouldn’t call that a party …” he said, remembering the jittery mess he had been most of the night.

“Oh, for the first three hours, it was,” she laughed.

He groaned again, this time in embarrassment. Whatever had been in that “energy drink” had made him feel … absolutely incredible. It had also put him completely out of his head.

“So, what did we learn?” she asked, giving him a patronizing smile.

He took a deep breath, recalling exactly what Kawalski had told him to say when she asked him that question. “Don’t put twinkies on your pizza.” He added a nod of certainty for effect, whatever “twinkies” and “pizza” were.

Bradford blinked at him in confusion, then snorted a laugh. “Goddamnit, Kawalski!”

Rinn shot her a sly smile, chuckling along with her, until another rut bounced his head off the window. It wasn’t a hard bump, but it jarred his headache. He groaned, and Bradford patted his arm in sympathy.

“Once we’re on the highway, you should probably just nap the rest of the way.”

He nodded, lifting his head clear of the window as the van bounced onto the paved road outside of the gate. Two big, black, blocky looking vehicles pulled onto the road around them.

“Hey, what’s with the black SUVs?” Bradford asked, tapping the seat in front of her and leaning forward to look at Lieutenant Bauder.

“Security,” he said, not looking up from his phone.

“You think we’ll need it?”

He sighed. “There’s always a few crazy people willing to do something stupid.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “Like traipsing an alien around down-town San Diego.” He shook his head, looking back to his phone. “They’re a precaution, hopefully not needed.”

“Aye, sir,” Bradford said, sitting back with her face twisted in an odd expression.

Rinn flicked a consoling ear at her. She caught the gesture and relaxed, patting his hand.

The music on the radio cut out, replaced by an urgent, pulsing chime. Their driver, Private Simmons, turned it up.

“This is an ABC News Special Report.” A stern voice said. Rinn perked an ear up.

“A state-wide manhunt continues today,” said another voice, “For the man responsible for the brutal murder of a Fallbrook family and the death of a County Deputy. Reports that the man is actually an elven operative who managed to evade military forces at the portal have now officially been confirmed. Shakira Freeman has more.”

The familiar thunder of a helicopter flying overhead rumbled out of the radio as Rinn perked both ears. “Army spokesperson Colonel Michael Shin confirmed this morning that the suspect being pursued was an elf, an enemy combatant believed to be some form of special operative. When and how he came through the portal are not known at this time. Army, National Guard, and Air Force resources have now been mobilized to assist County, State and Federal police forces in the search. State and County police forces have set up a temporary HQ here at the Pala Fire Department, and say that they are closing in on the enemy combatant. Reports came in not thirty minutes ago of a brief firefight with one of the tracking parties, but no further word has been received other than the elf is still at large and officers are still in pursuit.”

Rinn looked at Bradford, his pulse quickening, as the other voice came back on. “Authorities urge civilians to report any sightings and avoid contact. The elf is a confirmed enemy combatant, and is armed and extremely dangerous. Citizens in the Pala area are directed to remain inside, lock or secure all doors and windows, and immediately report any unusual sightings or occurrences. We will continue to keep you updated as this situation unfolds.”

“This has been an ABC News Special Report,” declared the first voice, as the urgent music came back on and faded away. Simmons turned the volume back down.

“That’s not where we’re going,” Bauder said, swiping at something on his phone. “There’s not much more that you can do to help, and at this point, you’d probably just get in the way.”

He turned to Bradford again, and she shrugged, her face scrunching in sympathy. “Sometimes, you just gotta let other people do their jobs.”

“I know …” he sighed, deflating as the spike of energy dribbled away. His ears laid flat against his skull as he looked out his window. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she said, patting his shoulder. “But your desire to help is appreciated.”

His ears slowly rolled back up from their depression, and he gave her an appreciative nod. As unnerving as their excessive touching was at first, it brings a strange comfort now …

As they continued down the freeway, he laid his head back against the glass. The great, paved road was smooth, and Private Simmons was much less … aggressive than Kawalski. Rinn felt the few short, restless hours of sleep he had managed to get the night before pulling on him, and closed his eyes.

He dozed off before he even realized he was drifting, but woke again barely thirty minutes later when the van jerked to a stop. Outside was a paved road with great buildings and military aircraft lining one side of it. In front of the van was a sleek-looking craft that didn’t sport any weapons he could see. “We’re flying?”

“Unless you want to spend ten hours driving, yes,” Bauder said, opening his door and stepping out of the van.

Bradford smiled at him, unbuckling her seatbelt. “C’mon, I’ve never been in a private jet before.”

Rinn leveraged himself up and followed her out of the van and into the aircraft. It’s cramped, but there is more luxury here than most lords would ever see …

He was directed to an extremely comfortable seat. He buckled the seatbelt as Bradford reached across the aisle from her seat to tap his arm. “Hey, check it out, they recline all the way!

He looked over to see her holding a button on her armrest while her chair slowly swung back until it was almost a bed.

His ears perking up, he looked at his own armrest, and after a little experimenting, he found the button that set his chair to leaning back. He sighed happily as he settled himself into the reclined chair, shifting his tail around so it wouldn’t fall asleep under him. He heard Bradford say something as his eyes drooped, but it didn’t matter, and the darkness claimed him.

Rinn snapped awake as the craft jerked with a great squelching sound. He looked out the little, rounded window next to his seat, his ears perked in alarm. They were settling onto a great, paved road, but the buildings and background were very different. Did I sleep the entire way?

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty’s finally awake,” Bradford said.

He looked over at her with a frown. Did she just … No, it’s another culture reference I don’t understand … At least I’m getting better at spotting them.

“Welcome to San Francisco,” she said. “If I’d thought ahead, we’d’ve got some flowers to put in your hair.”

He rolled his ears, and after some further experimentation, found the button that brought his chair back upright. He maintained an even stair with her the entire time.

She laughed.

“Come on,” Bauder said, stepping past them. “Our ride is waiting for us. We’re being picked up right off the plane.”

Rinn stood up, rubbing his head as the migraine slowly made its presence known again.

“Makes you feel like a movie star,” Bradford said, as they made their way down the short ladder, nodding at the three, black SUVs waiting for them. “Normally we’d have to go through airport security.”

They all piled into one of the SUVs, and minutes later had left the airport.

Almost immediately after getting on another highway, their small caravan left it. Driving past several large buildings and parking lots, they pulled into another lot with many small and large vehicles pulling in and out of it.

“I don’t know about you two, but I need my morning coffee,” Bauder said.

Bradford made a face. “Sure, sir, but Starbucks?”

“You don’t like Starbucks, Sergeant?”

“I don’t like over-priced diabetes in a cup, sir.”

“Fair enough,” he said, pulling out a notepad. “What will you all have?”

“Large coffee, black,” Bradford said, reaching into her pocket.

Bauder waved her off. “I’ve got this. I make more than all of you, combined,” he added, when Bradford made to protest. She shrugged, and sat back.

“I’m getting paid?” Rinn asked, his ears waggling at the old army joke, even as he tried to rub sleep and the migraine out of his eye.

Bradford and Bauder chuckled, and she narrowed her eyes at him in consideration. “A small, black coffee for Rinn, with plenty of sugar and creamer on the side.” She turned back to Rinn. “A hair of the dog that bit you.”

“What?” He frowned, his left ear sweeping back, while his right quirked up at her.

“It’s a saying … a metaphor.” She hesitated, and for a moment he could swear he saw her ears trying to sweep back. “Mostly for alcoholics.”

He nodded. “A taste of the demon that cursed you.”

“Ha, yeah, that.” She smiled, then tilted her head. “… Yours is cooler.”

Bauder finished writing on his notepad and looked at their driver. “And you, Mister …?”

“Simmons,” the driver said. He was a large human, deep-voiced and barrel-chested, and wore the same black uniform with white undershirt and black bolt of cloth tied about his neck as the rest of their “security escort.” It was very trim, almost anonymous, and coupled with his tinted glasses, quite intimidating.

Rinn quirked an ear. He doesn’t look like Private Simmons … Is that a common surname?

“What do you want, Simmons?”

“I’ll have a venti salted caramel mocha crème Frappuccino with almond milk, an extra shot, and five extra pumps,” he said, staring deadpan ahead.

Bradford slowly turned to stare at him. “That has to be one of the most basic-white-bitch orders I have ever heard. The only thing you’re missing is pumpkin spice. Do you want an insulin shot with that?”

“No, ma’am,” Simmons said, still deadpan.

Bradford shook her head, turning to Rinn. “This is why we have an obesity problem in this country.”

Rinn shrugged as Bauder finished writing the order, tore off a sheet from his notepad, and handed it out his window to another, almost faceless member of their security team.

He sat back and closed his eyes as they fell into silence, drifting off again despite his migraine.

He awoke once more to a very intriguing smell as four cups were passed in Bauder’s window. Three of a rather large size were passed amongst the humans, while a fourth of a much more reasonable size was passed to him.

With a sniff of the steaming brew, he tilted his head and perked an ear up in curiosity. “Here, you might want these,” Bradford said, handing him a small, brown paper bag as the SUV pulled out of the lot and headed back towards the highway. He turned to her, quirking his other ear up. “Cream and sugar, she said, laughing as her eyes tracked his ear. “Coffee can be an acquired taste.”

Nodding, he turned back to his cup and gingerly sampled the brew. Hmm … Hot. But … Not terrible. He glanced around, holding cup and bag, and Bradford reached intothe backrest between them, folding down a cleverly-concealed arm rest with conveniently-placed and -sized holes to hold his cup.

“It’s got cupholders!” She smiled, giving him a wink.

He gave her an appreciative nod, and set his cup in the holder. He rummaged in the bag for a moment, and after a little finagling, he figured out how to remove the lid and add one packet of sugar and one tiny little cup of creamer all on his own. All while Bradford sat back and watched him while she sipped her own coffee, silently laughing with her eyes.

He carefully mixed the brew with a tiny, little stick that seemed to have been purpose-made to do the job and be disposed of. He sampled it by licking the stick clean, and with a nod of satisfaction, put the lid back on.

“What do you think?” she asked, giving him an expectant look.

“I’ve had tea that was more bitter. It was terribly made, but I had to pretend it wasn’t.” He took a cautious sip. “This has other flavors, besides just bitter.” He took another sip and nodded. “It’s pleasant enough, now.”

They settled into a comfortable silence for a moment as their caravan breezed around and past the other traffic on the road.

By the time they reached another great bridge, Rinn’s headache had started to recede, and he was feeling much more awake.

Bradford took another sip of her coffee, then turned to him. “What was your ocarina like?”

“What do you mean?” he asked cocking his head and flicking an ear at the unexpected question.

“Like, what kind was it?” She held up her hands. “Was it a big one, little one? Was it square, ovoid? How many holes did it have?”

“It was …” he set his coffee down and held up a hand. “About as long as my hand. It was a common design, round, but narrow, with twelve finger holes.”

“Did you play it a lot?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “More than my seilei.” He shrugged. “It’s easier to carry, and I kept my seilei with my full kit, which I didn’t always have to hand.” He sighed. “I didn’t take it with me to the battle, for fear it would be broken.”

“What color was it?” She took another sip of her coffee.

He shook his head. “It was just the dull red of the clay it was made out of. It wasn’t a fine instrument. I couldn’t afford one.” He frowned. “I only even had my seilei because it had been in my family for three generations.” His ears wilted at the thought of all that he had lost in that battle, despite all that had been gained.

Bradford placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Who taught you to play?”

“My father taught me the seilei,” he said, his ears perking up at the happy memories. “It was his, and his father’s before him. He wooed my mother with it.”

“Oooh, romantic,” Bradford winked at him as she sipped her coffee. “Did he teach you the ocarina, too?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I learned that myself. A friend at university had bought one, but couldn’t carry a tune, so he gave it to me.”

“And did you woo any girls with it?” she asked, giving him a devilish grin.

His ears swept back and he looked down with an embarrassed smile. “A couple …”

“You dog!” she laughed, tapping his arm. “Good for you.” She took another sip of her coffee, leaning onto the armrest between them. “So, was that the ocarina you had?”

“No,” he snorted. “Yahgi saw me bring a couple girls … back to our dorm with it,” he said, pushing through an awkward pause, “And he took it back, determined to do the same.” He shrugged. “Since he took his back, I had to go and buy one of my own.” He took another sip of his coffee, and gave her a mischievous smile with a sidelong glance. “And, of course, I had to use it to steal the girl he was trying to woo with his ocarina. He still couldn’t carry a tune, after all.”

Bradford snorted out a giggle. “You didn’t!”

He nodded, his ears perking at her laughter. “I did! I still don’t think he’s forgiven me for it, despite them getting married the following year.” He sipped his coffee. “Last I heard, they had two daughters.”

Bradford chuckled. “Good for them.”

He smiled, his headache completely vanished, and they spent the rest of the trip talking more about the instruments he lost, sharing anecdotes of both of their experiences in university, and comparing the behaviors of the students of each species. They found much in common.

***

“The University at Yagyhanae is taller …”

Bradford laughed. “Did they have you studying in a proper mage tower?”

Rinn gave her a sidelong glance with his eyes and his left ear before turning back to gaze over the sprawling campus. “It was taller.” He looked back to the laboratory building they were approaching. “And it had a game preserve …”

“Wouldn’t mind that,” Bauder said as they walked through the doors, along with six members of their security detail.

“Lieutenant Bauder, I presume,” a man said, straightening from the counter he had been leaning on and stepping forward. His unruly brown hair was much longer than any of the Marines, except Bradford’s, and he wore a white jacket over a shirt with words painted on it, and jeans. “I’m Alistair, Alistair Fredericks.” He held out a hand. “I’m Doctor Yin’s assistant.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Bauder said, shaking his hand. “This is Sergeant Bradford, and Second Artificer Ahyat,” he added, nodding to each of them in turn.

Alistair shook Bradford’s hand, then extended his to Rinn. He flicked his ears forward and nodded as he shook the man’s hand in the human way. “It’s nice to meet you,” he yipped quietly.

Releasing Rinn’s hand, Alistair stood back, suddenly short of breath. “Oh my god … I just shook hands with an alien. I just met an alien! Oh my god!” He looked at Bauder. “What did he say?”

“He said ‘It’s nice to meet you,’” Bradford said. She glanced at Rinn, suppressing a smile. He flicked an ear at her, but otherwise kept his face stony.

“Ohhh, you can understand him! How can you understand him? Do you speak- Wait, right, we got briefed on this.” He took a deep breath, and grinned. “Magic!”

“Yes, he’s an alien, and he’s here to help you figure out magic,” Bauder rolled his eyes as he pulled his phone out to check on it. “I’m sure there’s a lot of work to do, and we don’t have all day.”

“Yes! Um, sorry,” Alistair gave them a sheepish smile, then pulled himself back into a more professional demeanor. “Dr. Yin is already in the lab, waiting for us. If you’ll follow me.”

He turned and led them through a door off the main lobby, that was almost immediately backed by a security guard sitting behind a table in front of another, locked door.

“IDs, please.” The guard looked at them as if they were the most boring inconvenience of his entire day.

Alistair held up a badge that was clipped to his jacket and was waved aside by the guard. Bradford and Bauder both pulled out their own ID cards and presented them, then were handed badges with a big V on them.

“And his ID?” the guard asked, waving at Rinn.

Bradford glanced at him, then back to the guard. “... Heee … doesn’t have any.”

“… Right.”

“He should be on the access list,” Bauder said.

“Yes. He is the entirety of our alien visitor access list.” The guard gave Bauder a deadeye stare. “How do I know it’s him?”

Bauder sighed. “We’re escorting him.”

“Very well,” the guard said, as if he could only barely be bothered to go along with the idea. He handed Rinn a different badge with a big E on it. “Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere unescorted.”

“I’ll do that,” Bauder sighed again.

They stepped off to the side and waited as four of their escort detail showed ID and got visitor badges. The other two had stayed in the lobby.

With everyone badged up, the guard pressed a button next to him and the door unlocked with a buzzing sound. Bradford grabbed the door and swung it open, and they all filed through.

Alistair led them down the hallway towards the lab.

“You said you’re Doctor Yin’s assistant?” Bauder asked.

“Yes. I’ve actually been working with her for a while now, and she just recently helped me complete my Masters.” He glanced at Bauder and Bradford with a smile, his chest puffing up a bit. “I have a Masters in particle physics, and a Bachelor’s of Science is electrical engineering, and just started working on a doctorate.” He chuckled. “I was starting my doctoral thesis on electromagnetic confinement for fusion plasma containment, which is something that I’ve wanted to work on since … well, since high school.” He shrugged and waved a hand. “But that’s gone out the window now that I have the opportunity to be one of the first people to write a doctoral thesis on the science behind magic.” He shook his head, laughing. “Still can’t believe I’m saying that …”

“I still can’t believe you don’t know what magic is,” Rinn muttered to Bradford.

“Alright, so here we are!” Alistair said, pushing open the doors to the lab.

Inside was a startling array of equipment that Rinn couldn’t even begin to quantify, interspersed with crates of mana crystals and captured elven equipment. Several more humans with white coats were scattered about the lab.

“Dr. Yin!” Alistair called. “They’re here!”

“Oh, good!” a short woman turned around, tucking her long, black hair behind an ear as she walked over to meet them. Rinn quirked an ear. She barely comes up to my chin! And her eyes are squinty … he tilted his head, comparing her to Bradford. Their skin comes in so many different shades …

“Dr. Yin, this is Lieutenant Bauder, Sergeant Bradford, and Second Artificer Rinn.” She smiled at them, and Rinn dipped his head in greeting. “Dr. Yin has been given the lead on this project.”

“More like been tasked with herding cats,” she smiled, shaking her head, as the others came over to join them, and gape at Rinn. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the team.” She started going down the line, sharing their names. Rinn shook a lot of hands, but very quickly lost track of who was who, or what their names even were.

“I hope you remembered everyone’s name,” he muttered to Bradford.

“Nope,” she muttered back, then gave him a wink. “But I can read nametags.”

“Now that introductions are out of the way, shall we get started?” Bauder said. “We’re only here for today.”

“Yes, of course!” Yin turned and lead them across the lab. “As you can see, we’ve already started doing some preliminary testing, and I know more have been sent to other labs for additional testing, but we’re really at a loss for where to even begin.”

“We’ve been doing impedance testing, spectrography, and we’re getting samples ready to test with a laser interferometer,” Alistair added, “And other samples we’re going to try bombarding with different types of radiation just to see what happens, but so far we haven’t gotten a whole lot, and we don’t really know what we do have means.”

“Where do you want me to start?” Rinn asked, with Bradford translating.

Yin smiled. “With everything.”

Rinn spent the next several hours explaining how mana crystals were condensed mana drawn from the ether, demonstrating different effects, and identifying and explaining the function of different pieces of equipment. He spent nearly an hour giving his best explanation for the two leading theories of what the ether was while activating different artifices that were being monitored by different pieces of equipment.

Almost all of which was elven, which added a layer of difficulty and mystery to his own efforts, as well as awe.

He snorted, shaking his head, as he marveled at the latest device they had him manipulating.

“Is something wrong?” Yin asked.

“No,” he said, flicking his ears dismissively as he set the device back down. “It’s just …” He glanced about, gesturing at the treasure trove of captured elven equipment. “Our researchers would have killed to have an opportunity to capture even a tenth of this.” He shook his head looking about the room. “And here we stand, in a room full of it.”

“What did he say?” Yin asked, looking at Bradford when she didn’t translate immediately.

“They’ve been fighting the elves a long time and never captured anything close to this,” she waved at the room.

Yin nodded. “I see.”

“So,” Alistair said. “We’ve been testing elven equipment all day,” he said, stressing the word with almost a giggle, “But I see you’ve brought something of your own.” He nodded at the stave Rinn had kept slung over his shoulder. “Is that something we can test?”

“Yes,” he said, unslinging the stave. “That’s why I brought it.”

Alistair’s face lit up as Bradford translated. “Is that your wizard staff?”

Rinn just stared at him, flicking an ear away.

“It’s called a stave,” Bradford said. “And he’s an artificer, not a wizard.”

“Right, uh, sorry, it’s just …”

“He’s a big dee-and-dee nerd,” Yin said, leaning over to Bradford and Rinn.

Bradford nodded, as if this explained everything. Rinn quirked an ear at her, and she winked back at him. He snorted. Humans …

The next hour was spent putting his stave through many of the same tests, while also demonstrating shield and active enchantment artifices.

“I can also shoot various spellbursts and other offensive spellwork with it,” he said, closing down his latest shield demonstration.

Alistair’s eyes turned into dinner plates, and he slowly turned to Yin, a pleading expression on his face.

Yin looked at him, then looked at another “scientist” standing beside her. This one was a tall man with bronze skin and silver hair. He nodded. “I think we have a lab room that will work.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were crowded into one end of a room that felt to him like it was more of a long hallway. The other end was a series of impromptu targets, and a series of instruments had been set up to monitor the whole thing.

Someone handed him a pair of clear plastic glasses. He stared at them. “Safety first,” Yin said, as everyone else donned theirs. He shrugged, and spent a moment finding a placement that kept the side pieces hooked over his ears without falling off or obscuring his vision.

Satisfied, he double-checked that everyone was ready.

“Let ‘er rip!” said Yin.

Nodding, he turned to the targets, and grinned. In rapid succession, he shot a shardbolt, fireburst, iceburst, and shockbolt into the targets, slapping all four of them in less than two seconds. He followed up with a shardburst that put fragments into all of them, and topped it off with an overcharged fireburst that engulfed all of the targets in flame.

Everyone but Bradford stared in shock as smoke roiled up from the targets and a piercing alarm started going off.

“That. Was. AWESOME!” Alistair shouted, shoving both fists into the air as a nozzle clicked above them and started spraying water across the room.

Rinn quickly threw a shield up to deflect the water while the other scientists cursed and ran to shut off whatever artifice had been triggered.

Bradford beamed at him and gave him a pat on the back. “I’m proud of you.” He dipped an ear at her, and smiled.

“So,” Alistair said, once they had turned the water and the alarm off, and made a number of calls to the university’s security, and the local fire brigade, “Is there anything that thing can’tdo?” He nodded at Rinn’s stave.

“Not much,” Rinn said, with Bradford translating. “It is specialized for war, but it was designed to channel most spells I can come up with.”

“So, what does it actually do?” the silver-haired scientist asked.

“It both acts as a mana booster, providing an efficient and controlled supply of mana from mana crystals,” he tapped the partially-depleted crystal set into the stave’s receiver. “And as a tool to simplify spell use.”

“What do you mean, simplify spell use?” Yin asked. “Does it make it easier to manipulate … magic?”

“In a way.” Rinn paused, considering how best to explain, looking at Bradford and giving her an apologetic dip of an ear. I know she’s getting tired of playing translator. “When casting a spell, an artificer can wholly create the artifice in his mind and channel that through the stave so that it provides the power. The only difference between casting a spell with the stave is that it can tie in the energy of a mana crystal, more safely and efficiently than if the artificer were to attempt to draw the power straight from a mana crystal themselves.”

He paused, using the time it took Bradford to translate to order his thoughts. He received a series of nods when she finished. “Doing that, however, requires a lot of concentration, especially for complex spells. It still requires considerable focus even with simple spells, and often takes time to cast. The artificer has to collect the spell in his head, and so-on.”

He waited again for the translation and the nods. “A stave,” he held his up, “Can also be used to store the spell structure of an artifice, allowing the artificer to quickly select and employ which type of artifice he desires to use. Rather than recreating the entire artifice in his mind, the artificer merely needs to recreate the trigger, and the stave will do the rest of the work. Skilled artificers can also use the stave almost as an extension of themselves, shaping and manipulating the artifice through the stave, without having to hold the entire picture of the artifice in their mind.”

“It’s like a memory bank!” Alistair said, when Bradford had completed her translation. “Or a computer …”

“It can store memories of spells, in a sense, yes …” Rinn raised one ear up in curiosity. I haven’t seen anything to suggest they can store memories … But it wouldn’t surprise me …

“He doesn’t mean literal memory storage,” Bradford said, smiling like she could read his mind. “It’s more in the same sense that I call my pocket notebook a pocket brain.”

“Oh,” Rinn nodded, his ears flicking back. That makes so much more sense.

“Are there bigger ones?” Alistair asked.

“Yes, but they’re not staves,” Rinn said. He pointed his tail at a crate of larger mana crystals. “The greater energy draw requires more rigid, specialized construction, otherwise they can burn out. Proper artillery can only shoot different types of spellshot, inscribed on spellframes. Our heaviest artillery pieces must be dedicated to a specific type of spellshot.”

“Fascinating …” Yin muttered. “And can anyone use this artillery?”

“No,” he shook his head. “It still requires an artificer to trigger the spell, though even the weakest artificer can do so.” He paused, and Bradford took the opportunity to slip a translation in before he continued. “The artillery pieces of our naval ships do have complicated trigger mechanisms that allow anyone to fire them, since they are by nature limited in the number of artificers aboard, but the devices are difficult and expensive to make, and I don’t actually know how they work.”

“We’ll have to see if we can get our hands on one of them,” Yin said.

“I’m sure we can make some kind of arrangement,” Bauder said, wandering over to rejoin the group.

“Excellent!” She smiled.

“May I?” Alistair asked, gesturing at the stave.

“You may,” Rinn nodded, handing it over.

The young man took it with care, holding it up to examine closely. He traced the fine, intertwining patterns of gold and platinum with a finger. He raised an eyebrow when Rinn confirmed that it was platinum. He ran his finger down to the two-pronged, gold-platinum alloy head of the stave.

“And these here,” he said, pointing to the two gems set into the base of the stave head. “What gems are these?”

“Tourmaline.”

His finger traced around to touch the gemstones at the base of each prong. “And these?”

“Berlinite.”

“And these?” he asked, touching the two gems set into the inner curve between the two prongs.

“Topaz.”

“Hmmm …” Alistair frowned at them, his expression scrunched up like he was missing something.

“They’re all piezoelectric,” Bradford said.

“Holy shit, you’re right!” Alistair held the stave out in front of him, as if seeing it in an all-new light. He gave Bradford a suspicious glance, then turned back to the stave, frowning at it again. “I have no idea how that is significant.”

That conversation kicked off a whole new battery of tests that lasted another hour-and-a-half, including another trip to the “range,” this time with a less intense barrage.

Rinn was just finishing another salvo of shardbolts when Bauder tapped him on the shoulder. “It’s time to go. Sergeant Bradford has a couple stops she wants to make while we’re in the area, and we have a flight to catch.”

He nodded, and began carefully disconnecting the latest set of wires that had been taped to his stave.

A few minutes later, and Alistair was seeing them back to the lobby. “Well, it’s certainly been fun, and fascinating, but I think you’ve left us with more questions than answers.”

“I hope I at least helped,” Rinn said, flicking his ears back for a moment.

“Oh, absolutely!” Alistair said. “It’ll be a long while before we really start answering our questions, but I think you’ve got us asking the right questions, and you’ve given us a direction to start in.”

“Knowing your ass from your elbows certainly helps,” Bradford smiled.

“I wouldn’t say we’re that far along, yet,” Alistair smiled. “But we’ll get there.” He held his hand out. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

They took turns shaking hands, and when Rinn’s turn came around, he grasped Alistair’s forearm and shook it in the Ganlin way. “It was an experience.”

Alistair looked down in surprise at the unexpected grip, then back up at Rinn. “Alien cultures!” he grinned.

Rinn swept his ears back and shook his head as he let go. Bradford looked like she wanted to smash her palm into her face.

“See you around!” Alistair waved as they left, surrounded by their security detachment.

Once back in the SUV, Rinn sat back with a sigh. That was fun, though I think I have as many questions as they do …He frowned as another thought occurred to him. “Lieutenant Bauder … Why did I come here today?”

Bauder looked at him over his shoulder after Bradford translated. “To help us figure out magic.”

“Well, yes, I get that,” Rinn said. “But why me? I’m just a field artificer. There are plenty of learned scholars who would have been perfect for this, who would jump at the chance for it, and I can’t believe my kingdom wouldn’t want to send someone to help you, and learn as much in the process.”

The lieutenant put his phone away and turned around in his seat to more squarely look at Rinn. “Because you’re available now. The research agreements we’re working out with your people are very promising, but they’re bogged down in politics.” He glanced out the front window as they made their way back through town. “And to be completely honest,” he said, turning back to Rinn. “You’re not expected to have any ulterior motive.”

“I see,” Rinn said as Bauder sat back down in his chair and pulled out his phone, ending the conversation.

He settled into silence once more as their caravan worked its way through the city, taking in the sights this new human city had to offer.

They had just crossed back over the long bridge, and the amazing architecture he hadn’t paid attention to on their first trip across. Does it suspend itself? Looking back out the window, he was starting to wonder why Bradford hadn’t said a word, when he realized their route was diverging from the one they had taken on the way to Berkeley. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Bradford said, smiling.

He gave her a suspicious glance.

“Sergeant Bradford made a compelling argument that it was a good idea to show you significant landmarks while we were passing by.”

Rinn glanced at Bauder, then back at Bradford. With a roll of his ears, he sighed, and settled back in his seat.

He didn’t have to wait long. Another ten minutes, and they had cleared the large buildings. In the distance ahead, he caught a glimpse of something, and he knew that was their goal. He leaned forward to get a better look, but was cut off by a series of tunnels.

By the time they cleared the tunnels and the trees, it was right there. He leaned forward again.

“The Golden Gate Bridge,” Bradford said. “Built over eighty years ago. At the time, it was the longest suspension bridge in the world. Still one of the tallest.”

Rinn gaped at this latest feat of engineering. This one does suspend itself! He twisted around to keep it in sight as the SUVs pulled off into a parking lot just before a set of booths and the bridge itself.

“We’re not stopping, just looping the parking lot,” Bauder said. “You’ve seen it, and we’ve got a plane to catch, so we don’t have time to linger.” He turned to look over his shoulder at Bradford. “Especially if you want to make that other stop.”

She nodded. “That’s fine. I just wanted him to have the chance to see it.” She turned to Rinn. “The other bridge we crossed, the Oakland Bay bridge, is a larger suspension bridge, but the Golden Gate Bridge is one of America’s iconic landmarks, right up there with the Statue of Liberty and the Washington Monument.”

Rinn nodded, his eyes locked on the bridge as they circled the lot, and followed another road to jump around to the other side of the highway. So many of their roads are one-way only … But it makes sense, given the speeds they travel at.

Thirty minutes later, their entire caravan pulled to a halt at the side of another street. “I’ll be right back,” Bradford said, shoving her cover onto her head and all but jumping through the door. She quick-marched down the street and into a shop.

He watched her go, an ear quirked up in confusion, and five minutes later watched her march back up the street, a bag in her left hand and a satisfied grin on her face. “Everything goes so smoothly when you pay in advance online!” she said, hopping back into the SUV. She had no sooner shut the door than their caravan was off again.

Rinn quirked a curious ear at her, and she just smiled. “It’s a surprise, for on the plane.”

He narrowed his eyes, but accepted it, and spent the next thirty minutes all but twitching in his seat, wondering what Bradford was going to jump him with this time.

Finally reaching the airport, their caravan drove out onto the runway, right up to the plane that was waiting for them.

“Just to be clear,” Bradford said. “This isn’t normal.”

“None of this is normal for me.”

She laughed, stepping out of the SUV and stretching. “Fair enough.”

Walking around the front of the SUV, she tapped the metal cover over the driving artifice. “Don’t forget your insulin, Simmons!” she shouted, pointing a finger-gun at him.

Rinn saw their former driver raise a fist and extend his middle finger.

Bradford grinned, and they all filed onto the plane.

Unlike the previous trip, Bradford took the seat next to his. She was practically wiggling in excitement, the mystery bag gripped in both hands. “Watch your window,” she said. “You were out cold for the take-off last time.”

He gave her a suspicious eye and ear, but complied. I did want to see this …

He didn’t have long to wait. A short time after the door was pulled shut and secured, a deep hum rumbled behind them, spooling to a higher-pitched whine. A moment later, the plane began to move, lining itself up at one end of a long stretch of pavement.

They waited a moment, and Rinn saw another plane gliding down to land on a strip parallel to theirs.

Then the plane lurched, and the noise spooled from an idling rumble to a high whine, and they began to accelerate. He watched out the window as they sped down the paved strip, and then with a slight bounce, they were in the air.

The plane climbed higher, rolling and turning in a slow arc. His ears perked up when he heard a faint rumble and clunk beneath them. He glanced at Bradford.

“Retracting the landing gear.” He quirked an ear at her. “The wheels on the bottom.”

He flicked his ears back. Well, I guess that’s pretty obvious in hindsight …

The plane banked again, and continued to climb. He looked out the window again, amazed at how incredibly high they already were. His ears flicked from one side to the other. If I hadn’t already flown into battle, I would probably be terrified … He considered a moment more. If I’m being completely honest, a part of me is still a little bit terrified …

“Alright,” Bradford said, settling back in her chair and dropping the bag in his lap. “Since you lost yours.”

Confused, he cocked an ear at her, looking down at the bag. Cautiously, he opened the bag, and pulled out a box. He examined it for a moment, giving Bradford a suspicious glance. She gave him an innocent smile in return.

Slowly, expecting it to suddenly explode on him, he opened the box. Inside, he found a padded case. He frowned. Is this like a yibi-yabi-yobi doll? Just boxes inside of boxes?

Tilting his head, he opened the case. He gasped, his ears perking straight up, then falling limply to the sides as his mouth sags open.

Inside was a beautifully-crafted ocarina.

Carefully, he pulled it out of the case. It was not identical to his old one, though it was a similar size and shape. Unlike his old one, which had no glaze, this one gleamed with a beautiful, deep blue color.

He blinked, looked at Bradford, and blinked again, determined not to show tears. “This is too expensive … I can’t …”

Bradford shook her head. “Making these things is a lot easier for us than for you. Even the really nice ones aren’t that expensive, and this is just a good one.”

He worked his jaw several times, licking the roof of his mouth, while Bradford gave him a happy but unyielding stare. He sighed, his ears sweeping back against his skull in humility, and he bowed his head to her. “Thank you. I … Thank you.”

“Play it.”

His ears shot out to the sides as he opened his mouth, then perked up at the idea. His right ear twitched, and he started to smile.

He set the bag, box, and case on the floor between his legs and held the ocarina, his ocarina. He took a moment to find his grip. It was the shape that gave an ocarina its sound, and this was close to his old one, but not exact. He twiddled his fingers over the holes, verifying their place while briefly limbering up.

He put the ocarina to his lips and briefly ran it up and down the scale. It hit pure on every note.

Bradford smiled, and nodded encouragingly.

Rinn closed his eyes and took a deep breath, collecting himself. What should I play …? One song rose up in his mind. On old melody, from the early years of the war. Many verses had been added since.

Positioning his fingers, he started to play.

It started out slow, with just a hint of sorrow, and a recurring, rhythmic beat that reflected lines of marching troops. The tune transitioned to bright and gallant, then stern and determined, and down to deep sorrow. It was a song of resistance, determination, and mourning for those bright souls lost to the war. It spoke of anguish for all those sacrificed for so little gain, and so many setbacks. It dove deep into the throes of that lament, but that gallant refrain kept reprising.

The last note trilled out, and he lowered the ocarina. He took a deep breath, and had to bring a hand up to wipe his eyes. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked over to see Bradford smiling at him, her own eyes glistening.

“That was beautiful.”

He simply nodded, unable to speak.

She rubbed his shoulder and squeezed again, giving him a warm smile.

Part of him wished she would do more, but that would not be appropriate.

“Thank you,” he said again, finally finding his voice.

“Any time,” she said, giving his shoulder a final pat before withdrawing her hand.

Rinn took a deep breath, and turned to his window, the ocarina clutched to his chest. The sun was setting to the west, casting long shadows across the Earth below. They were heading south, now. Back to the portal, back to the war.

He watched until the light of the sun had faded, and continued to watch as new lights, of civilization, shown below.

The song played through his head again, the tune of the gallant refrain reprising.

Episode 11.5

The sun was just starting to crest the mountains to the East.

Songbirds were starting their morning calls.

Tyriel’s lungs burned.

The cursed beasts were baying behind him. They had found him. Again.

His breath came in stabbing bursts as he dodged around trees, over fallen logs and branches. His steps had slowed, his feet leaden. He would need to replenish his mana reserves soon. From what few mana crystals I have left …

He heard shouting not far behind. The humans were closing. How can they just keep going?

Another beast bayed, directly behind him.

He whirled. The infernal creature was almost right on top of him!

He lowered his staff and fired into the animal’s sagging face, while simultaneously reaching into a pouch to drain one of the handful of mana crystals he had left. The beast’s abbreviated yelp was drowned out by the whining zap of his staff, and it tumbled to the ground at Tyriel’s feet.

Mana flowed into him as the crystal was consumed, replenishing his reserves. He drew a large portion of it into his living body, replenishing his physical energy and chasing away the exhaustion, for a time.

A crack thundered through the trees, and a human projectile snapped over his head. He sent a volley of shardbursts in the human’s direction while ducking behind the tree next to him. Two more humans fired at him, a pair of shots each. Both flew wide, though one impacted another tree nearby.

He sent a second volley of shardbursts after them before sprinting to another tree, further up the ridge. More rounds snapped past him from the first human as he ran, but they were focused on the first tree he had sheltered behind.

Ducking behind his new cover point, he cursed the trees of this land for their obstinate silence. Another barrage from the humans zipped and pinged around him.

Peeking out, he spotted two of the humans through a cluster of underbrush. Not a great shot … But a little fire will cause them problems. He swung his staff around and it spat out a rapid salvo of four firebursts, peppering the humans and the brush they hid behind. He heard them shout in surprise, and one in pain as the dry shrubbery burst into flames.

A second beast howled as more rounds from the first human peppered his tree. Tyriel snarled in hatred, and sent a spray of shardbursts after the wretched thing. A yelp followed by high-pitched yowling told him he had hit it, but not silenced it.

Three more rounds kicked up dirt and splinters around him, and Tyriel flinched back under cover. He glanced ahead, further up the mountain. The top of the next ridge is just there … If I can get over it, I can have a down-hill sprint across part of the next hollow … That will buy me some time. He frowned as he heard more shouting in the distance, and the faint, thumping pulse of one of their air machines. I can’t keep this up much longer …

He leaned around, sending another salvo of shardbursts at the humans, and took off, dashing up the hill as fast as his legs and mana reserves could push him. A single shot chased him over the crest, but missed.

With the ridge behind him, Tyriel sprinted into the next hollow. Running downhill, gravity was his friend, aiding his escape from the humans. Until he reached the other side, and it wasn’t.

His chest heaved, and his lungs were on fire as he pushed himself up the hill. He drove ever upwards, striving to cross the mountain, into the wilderness he was certain lay beyond.

Reaching the top of the hollow, he heard more shouts of the humans cresting the ridge behind him. More of the cursed beasts came with them, though their barks and deep-chested growls were different from the baying of the saggy-faced creatures that had been hounding his every step.

His reserves already nearly depleted again, he spared a glance over his shoulder. He had been able to gain a lead on them once more, but it was smaller every time. He counted his mana crystals. Just two remaining, and smaller ones at that … Any hope of escape he had left vanished. Capture or death was inevitable. But I can still accomplish my mission.

Consuming one of his remaining crystals, he glanced up into the trees above him. There. A light pulse from his staff flashed into the tree. A songbird dropped, tumbling to the ground, stunned.

He knelt behind the log it fell next to, and gently picked it up. Satisfied that it was still intact, he pulled a small control button from another pouch, and pressed the spikes into the back of its head. It twitched as they pierced its skull and the magic activated.

Next, he drew a memory crystal. He had already prepared it with what he had learned at the house, during one of his early rests. Now he added the last of what he had seen and learned during his pursuit.

The memory transfer took but a moment. They would be raw, and unfiltered, but it was all he had time for. And, this way, his superiors would get every detail, even the ones he had missed himself.

The transfer complete, he secured the memory crystal to the control button, and imparted his commands. They were simple and crude. Fly. A direction, through the portal. Another direction. Continue flying. More complex instructions were possible, even direct control, but not without a larger, more sophisticated control device, and a greater knowledge of the creature’s mind. The existing commands would drive the creature to continue flying until it died of exhaustion, but it wouldn’t have survived the spiking, anyway.

Commands imparted, he set the still-stunned creature beside the log, and resumed his own flight.

*****

Police Sergeant Goldberg huffed his way up the mountainside, hot on the heels of his partner, Lazarus. The German Shepherd was off the leash, now, after having practically hauled Goldberg out of the latest damned hollow, but he hadn’t yet bolted in for the attack.

Damn, this bastard is quick, he thought, struggling to keep the child-murdering cop-killer in sight, But he tires quick, too … He wished he could just draw his sidearm and shoot the fucker. But orders are to kill only if absolutely necessary … They want him alive. I hope they torture the intel out of the sonofabitch.

Lazarus skidded to a halt and looked up, surprised by a bird as it exploded up from behind a log, but he was distracted for only a moment. With a half-yip, half-growl at the offending bird as it disappeared into the sky, he leapt over the hurdle and the chase continued.

*****

Huffing along the easier slope of the main ridge, Tyriel heard footfalls and a growl behind him. He spun, his staff in his left hand, ready to blast another of the cursed beasts.

The monster was closer than he thought, however, and he had barely spun around when the beast slammed into him like a fur-covered missile. Its jaws latched onto his left arm as he was tackled to the ground, and he bellowed in pain as he felt bones break. His staff was thrown uselessly aside.

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed his sword with his free hand, but before he could draw the gemblade, another beast leapt onto him, grabbing his right arm and ripping his hand away from the hilt. Cursing, he tried to kick at them, but a third monster latched onto his ankle.

Jerking their heads, their teeth pierced through gaps in his armor, tearing flesh and grinding against bone. Stretched and pinned, he shouted in pain. His fight was over.

But there was one last spell, if he could just concentrate …

The humans arrived, shouting in their barbaric language, but he would not let them take him alive. He drew the spell in his mind.

“Tazer! Tazer! Tazer!”

The beasts leapt away. Their mistake! He grinned, readying the last of his reserves.

Two needles stabbed his neck, and his world exploded in electric fire.

He twitched and spasmed, the spell thrown from his mind.

The darkness took him.

End Act II

Episode 12

“Battaaalion! Atten-huh!”

Nearly eight hundred boots stomped the packed dirt.

“Dress right, dress!”

Bradford stuck her left arm straight out to the side, head turned to the right, and shuffled into even separation. Directly behind her, Rinn was quick to copy her motions.

“Ready, front!”

Arm down, facing straight ahead.

“Left, face!” Boots stomped as eight hundred Marines and one keshmin pivoted in place.

“At a close interval, dress left, dress!”

Rinn was a little quicker to copy Bradford and the other Marines this time. These facing commands aren’t too dissimilar from Ganlin Army training, and the principle is the same …

“Ready, front! Right, face!”

The muffled thump of almost eight hundred boots clopping the dirt reverberated across the impromptu parade ground.

“At ease!”

Rinn relaxed from his attention posture along with the rest of the battalion, and had to resist the urge to reach up and tug on a horn. As polished as they are, I don’t want to smudge them …

He smirked, remembering his encounter with the rest of the squad the previous night. He had walked into the squad’s tent alone. Bradford had all but sprinted for the head as soon as they were dropped off.

Stepping inside, he found his squadmates all staring at him with unnerving grins. “We’re meeting all them fancy new artificers tomorrow,” Kawalksi said, “And damnit if our Shields ain’t gonna show ‘em all up!”

“No,” Rinn said, taking a step back, every danger sense he had flaring.

“C’mon, Rinn,” Kimber said, holding up a “power tool” they had purchased the other day. “Mr. Dremel’s calling your name!” He pressed a button on the side, causing the tip to spin at an alarming rate with a high-pitched whine. Reen. Reen. REEEEEN.

His ears jumped up in alarm, then swept flat back against his skull. “Fuck. No.” The human explicative seemed to fit.

“C’mon, brah!” Stephens said. “It won’t hurt! I think …”

Rinn took a step back, deciding it was time to leave. His ears shot up again as he found his path blocked by a living mountain. Tahsh.

“Hold him!” Kawalski said.

Rinn tried to bolt, he really did, but Gomez already had his arms around him. Before he knew it, the rest of the squad piled on.

He squirmed, trying to break free, but Gomez’s arms just squeezed tighter. A hand reached in to grab his head. He snapped at it.

“Ah, fuck, he bit me!”

“Pin him down!”

The world tilted, and Rinn found himself on the ground, pinned under the weight of several Marines.

But his hands were still free. Ish. He concentrated, drawing up his reserves, shaping the mana as he wriggled around, quickly losing the battle to keep them from completely pinning him. The charge was ready, and a leg came into convenient reach.

“Ow, fuck! Shit! God fucking damnit! He fucking zapped me! Get his hands! Goddamnit, my whole leg don’t fucking work!”

“Fucking hold still!”

“Now, you tell me if this starts to hurt,” Kimber said. The Dremel whined.

“Fuck you!” Rinn growled.

“Damn, I shoulda worn a mask for this …”

“Ugh, blegh, I got Ahyat dust in my mouth!”

Rinn struggled and cursed for several more minutes before finally resigning himself to their efforts, though he grumbled the entire time.

Two hours later, and his horns were smoother and glossier than they had ever been in his entire life. With just a little polish in the morning, they gleamed a deeper ebony than his fur.

He might have also gotten a cracked rib or two in the process, he wasn’t sure. Something is definitely bruised, at least …

Snapping back to the present, he realized that the battalion’s XO was talking. “-are representing more than just the battalion. You are representing the entire US Marine Corps, the entire US military, the United States itself, and all of humanity. I have faith in all of you. Do not disappoint me.”

An awkward silence fell as Winters stepped to the side. She glanced at her watch with a subtle frown.

“So how long are we gonna be waiting here?” someone whispered.

“Dunno any more than you do, man,” said someone else.

“Stand by to stand by,” said a third Marine.

Rinn snorted. “I’ve stood at attention for half a day waiting on some lord general to come address the troops more than once.”

“Heh. Fucking brass are all the same,” the first Marine said.

Motion caught his eye, and he saw a Humvee approaching, followed by three carriages, each pulled by a pair of queshi.

“Battalion! Attenhuh!”

Conversation died as the Marines snapped to attention. The Humvee rolled to a stop in front of the battalion, the carriages in a line behind it. The queshi team of the lead carriage snorted and shook their heads at the squeal of the humvee’s brakes.

“Are those horses or elk?” he heard a Marine mutter.

The front passenger door of the Humvee opened, and Lieutenant Colonel Michaels stepped out. As he turned to face the carriages, footmen leapt down from the two leading carriages to place steps before their doors and open them. The passengers of the rear carriage, which appeared less well-appointed, were left to open their own door.

Six keshmin stepped out of the carriages. The first carriage held only one passenger, the second held three, and the last held two.

Rinn’s ears twitch as he recognized the livery of the first coach. That carriage belongs to Archduke Ki-Kami Yeshai! He and his son are eight and ninth in line for the throne!

Michaels approached the Duke and shook his hand, and they led the rest of the artificers to stand in front of Barrakis and Winters, who stood at the head of the formation.

Barrakis saluted. “All present, sir!”

Michaels returned the salute. “Outstanding, Sergeant Major. Tell the men to stand at ease.”

“Aye, sir. Battalion! At ease!”

Rinn relaxed with the other Marines, subtly leaning around Bradford’s shoulder to get a glimpse of his fellow keshmin. A pair of Ospreys rumbled overhead in the near distance.

“Second Battalion!” Micheals said. “These are the new artificers that will be joining us for the next few weeks.” He gestured to the sandy-and-cream colored keshmin standing next to him. He lacked the distinctive, reddish color of the royal family, but his fur still had a hint of rust, and his blunter nose and forward-jogging horns clearly marked him as high nobility. “We are honored by the presence of Lord Commander Ki-Namu Yeshai, Duke of Yeshai,” he moved next to a tawny keshmin with a short, narrow snout and forward-curved horns. “Earl and Knight Captain Telmu Anyo.” Anyo gave a curt nod as Michaels indicated a dusky-furred keshmin speckled black stripes, and a tan-and-cream keshmin. Both of their horns had a gentle forward curve. “Lord Artificers Ayesh Ayan and Kimo Sayiash, Second Artificer Nalmu Tyetyeh,” Michaels pointed at a russet keshmin with splotches of tan and cream and straight horns, “And Second Artificer-“

Shiyan Yenyed! Rinn’s ears popped up as he recognized the distinctive brown spots and stripes of his cream-furred roommate. I haven’t seen him since university!

“Over the next few weeks, we will work together to develop combined arms tactics and techniques. Two artificers will be assigned to work with each company, with Duke Yeshai joining me at Battalion HQ.” He turned to smile at Rinn’s company. “I’m sorry, Echo Company, but you’re only getting one new artificer. You’ve already got one.” A few chuckles rippled through the ranks, and somebody nudged Rinn from behind.

“After we make those assignments,” Michael continued, turning to look across the rest of the Marines. “You will have a day to get your new squadmates settled in and familiarized with the camp and basic ops. Tomorrow, we hit the ground running. Major Winters has worked with liaisons from the Ganlin Royal Host, as well as our own experts, and put together an aggressive training and integration program. We’ll be putting each other through our paces to show what each can do, coupled with strategy and planning sessions, and team building exercises.”

He paused, sweeping his gaze across the battalion for effect. “We’re entering new territory here, integrating capabilities new to both sides. We know how Marines fight. Our Ganlin friends know how the Royal Host fights. We’ve all seen firsthand how the enemy fights.” He stretched himself a little taller, raising his voice for emphasis. “There is nobody who has had a better look at the challenges of this war than all of you standing here now.” He raised his fist, his thumb pointed up, shaking it up-and-down. “If you have ideas, suggestions, solutions, pass them up the chain. You’re the ones who have seen this shit for real.” He pointed his whole hand at the battalion. “You’re the ones who will have to make whatever we come up with work out in the field. I’d rather get as much input from all of you, the actual boots on the ground, than a bunch of pencil-pushing bean counters deployed to a cubicle somewhere back in DC. Oorah?”

“OORAH!”

He pointed at the ground beneath their feet. “What we do here in the next few weeks will set the foundation for combat doctrine for years to come.” He pointed at the battalion again. “Do it right. Do it the Marine way. And make your country proud. Oorah?”

“OORAH!”

“Major Winters, I want a company commanders’ meeting at HQ in one-five minutes, officers and senior enlisted. We’ll determine company assignments, and discuss accommodations and chain-of-command for our new artificer specialists.”

“Aye, sir!”

“Sergeant Major, keep our resident experts behind, but you may dismiss the rest of the battalion to the barracks. They’ll be meeting the artificers assigned to their companies soon.”

“Aye, sir!” Barrakis turned to the formation.

“Battalion! Atten-huh!” Rinn snapped to attention along with the Marines. “Second Squad, First Platoon, Echo Company, stay here. The rest of you are to return to the barracks and stand by. Oorah?”

“Oorah!”

He eyed the formation. “Retreat!”

“HELL!”

“Two-Five!”

“RETREAT, HELL!”

“Dismissed!”

As the rest of the battalion fell out of formation, Bradford remained standing at attention. Rinn followed her lead, intently studying the tight bun her hair was folded into, his ears locked in line with his horns. Once the other Marines moved away from them, Bradford relaxed and stepped forward. Rinn and the rest of the squad fell in behind her.

She stopped in front of Colonel Michaels and snapped out a crisp salute. The rest of the Marines stopped and did the same. Rinn bent forward slightly and dipped his head in a proper, military bow. “Second Squad reporting as ordered, sir!”

“Stand at ease, Sergeant,” Michaels said, returning the salute. Rinn noted that Winters and Barrakis both saluted, as well. Duke Yeshai snapped to attention and dipped his head in crisp acknowledgement. The other nobles hesitated, but at a subtle flick of Yeshai’s tail, quickly followed his example. Bradford dropped her salute and eased into a relaxed posture, clasping her hands in front of her waist.

“Lord Commander,” Michaels said. “This is Sergeant Bradford, and Second Artificer Ahyat. The Second Artificer linked up with Second Squad in our first fight in the war, and has been tagging along ever since.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Second Artificer,” Yeshai said. “From what Colonel Michaels has told me, you have provided invaluable service to his battalion.”

“I was merely doing my job, my lord,” Rinn said, his ears swinging back in stifled embarrassment at the recognition.

“And polishing up quite well, I see,” Yeshai said, glancing him up and down. “You put our travel-dusty appearance to shame.” He gestured at the other keshmin. Anyo flicked his ears in annoyance while staring over Yeshai’s shoulder.

Rinn felt the pride and vindication beaming off the humans beside and behind him. “I have the rest of my squad to thank for that, m’lord. They have a few … tricks for cleaning one up.”

Anyo swung an ear forward as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Well, hopefully they share,” Yeshai yipped a laugh. “In the meantime, try not to blind us with the glare from your horns!”

“I’ll do so, m’lord.”

“I’d be more concerned with being brained by that great snout of his, my lord!” Yenyed said, stepping forward, earning himself a glare from Anyo.

“Shiyan,” Rinn smiled, reaching out his hand to clasp his old friend’s arm. “I haven’t seen you in an age!”

“Not since we shared a room at Yagyhanae!” Yenyed grinned, gripping his arm tight. “Seven years, and I still can’t get out of sight of that snout of yours.”

“When did you join the army? I thought you had an academic writ.” Rinn asked. The last thing I need is for him to keep talking about how big my nose is in front of the humans …

“About four years ago, when the writ ran out.” He rolled his ears and shrugged. “It’s been a soldier’s life since.” He released Rinn’s arm and flicked his ears at him while tapping his own horns. They had a gentler rearward curve. “Though it looks like it’s done you well.”

Rinn shrugged his ears, stepping back in line with the humans.

“I see that not all introductions are necessary,” Yeshai said, flicking an amused ear at them. “Second Artificer Ahyat, since you have developed some experience with humans, it was Major Winters’ suggestion that you might be able to provide some initial guidance, and Colonel Michaels and I agree. Short as your time with the humans has been, I am given to understand that it has not been uneventful, and that you have even made two trips to Earth.”

“Yes, my lord,” Rinn said, dipping his head in a slight bow of affirmation, his ears held back as he shifted awkwardly.

Yeshai glanced at Michaels, giving him a deferring flick of his ear.

Michaels nodded. “Ahyat, in addition to everything else, you are assigned to act as a cultural guide and liaison for your fellow artificers, and for the battalion. For the first couple weeks, anyway, while we get used to each other.”

Yeshai smiled. “You are the resident human expert, after all.”

“Yes, m’lord,” Rinn nodded to both of them. “Though I’m not sure I can provide more insight than what can be gained by just asking each other.”

“From what all I have been taught and experienced in diplomacy,” Yeshai said, chuckling, “It’s the asking that is always the sticking point.”

“As you say, my lord,” Rinn said, his ears drooping in resignation. He nodded again, then had to suppress a frown when he caught Anyo glaring at him again. That’s a “you’re talking above your station” glare for sure …

“Colonel?” Winters said, stepping into the conversation. She nodded over her shoulder at an officer in a different-styled uniform.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said, stepping away.

“So,” Nalmu said, strutting forward. Rinn’s nose twitched as the musk he wore wafted along with him. “Pardon my forwardness, my lords, but I do hope we get some time away from camp. There aren’t many tails around here to snag, if you know what I mean.”

Rinn glanced at his artificially straightened horns and had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Typical …

“Oh, we’re Marines,” Davies piped up with a smirk and a wink. “We always know how to find tail to snag, if you know what I mean.”

Taking a deep breath, Rinn dove into his newly-assigned role as “cultural guide.” “So, humans,” he said.

“Present!” Kawalski said.

Rinn took another deep breath. “Humans look a lot like stocky elves-“

“Heh, he’s talking about you, Davies,” Kawalski said in an exaggerated whisper. Rinn could feel the heat of Davies’ return glare through the fur on the back of his head.

“They look much like elves, but resemblance aside, they are nothing like elves.”

“I am beginning to see that,” Yeshai said, his ears twitching in amusement.

“Humans are often brash, loud, and abrasive, or at least these ones are,” he flicked his ears at the Marines around him.

“I take that as a compliment,” Kawalski said.

“Some more than others …”

Kawalski grinned.

“But they are also kind, compassionate, and caring. They have much to share with us, and as alien as they may seem, we are not so different in the core of who we are.” He touched his chest, near his heart.

“And they have incredible miracles that they are willing to throw in against the elves,” Yeshai said.

“For now,” Anyo muttered, earning himself a slight ear twitch from the Duke.

“Miracles that they can teach us!” Rinn said. “As amazing as what they can do seems, and you haven’t seen a fraction of it, they weren’t any more advanced than us only a few centuries ago.”

“But are they willing to teach us?”

“I can’t speak for our diplomats and political leaders,” Bradford spoke up, “But we have no reason not to share a lot of things. Plus, you’ve got magic, and I can assure you, sir, we’ll be happy to trade a lot for that.”

“Sir?!” Anyo stepped forward. “He is no sir! He is the son of Archduke Yeshai! He is a member of the royal family, and you will address him as ‘my lord’ or ‘your grace,’ soldier! In any other circumstance, your proper action would be to kneel before him. Remember your place, and the appropriate treatment of your betters.”

“Pardon me, sir,” Bradford said, turning a steely-eyed glare at him, her back ram-rod straight. “But in America we do not have nor recognize nobility. Our nation was founded on the principle that all people are born equal, and Americans do not kneel before anyone.”

“All are equal?” Anyo snorted, his ears twirling in a dismissive flip. “And who rules you? Do you just pick someone from among you and all vote on it?”

“Yes,” Bradford said. “It’s called Democracy.”

Anyo opened his mouth to give further mockery but found himself brought up short by Bradford’s response.

Ha! He didn’t expect that! Rinn thought, Though, I didn’t, either …

“And we are not ruled, we are governed,” Bradford added. “The United States of America is a Republic, with duly- and democratically-elected representatives, who form a government by the people, for the people, and of the people.”

“That is the most impetuous, absurd thing I have ever heard!” Anyo sneered, his ears perked straight up. “And I will not be spoken to in such a way by a common soldier, nevermind a womanplaying at-“

“Knight Captain!” Yeshai said, his sharp tone signaling the end of the discussion. “The humans clearly have many cultural differences, but this is not the first time we have encountered, nor worked with peoples of wildly different principles. Nor should you be so surprised by female warriors. Many of the most powerful Dohlgra battlecasters are women, after all. The humans have shown they wish to be both our friends and allies, and gods above and below know we need them.” He gave Anyo a stern glare. “Whatever cultural differences and disagreements we have with them must be put aside.”

“As you say, your grace,” Anyo said, dipping forward in a modest bow. He stepped back, but made no apology.

Bradford eyed him for a moment, then turned away, clearly dismissing him from her thoughts.

Rinn heaved an internal sigh of relief, glad he did not have to choose between trying to calm the situation, and defending Bradford.

“Everything alright over here?” Michaels asked, returning to the group.

“Just fine, sir,” Bradford replied without hesitation.

“Good,” Michaels said. “Lord Commander, I’m about to meet with the rest of the battalion leadership. I’m sure you’ll want to be present.”

“Of course,” Yeshai said. He glanced at Anyo with a pointed flick of an ear. “I expect our integration to begin apace while I’m gone.”

“Yes, my lord,” Anyo replied.

“Sir!” Bradford said, snapping to attention and rendering a crisp salute.

“Carry on, Sergeant.” Michaels returned the salute. “Give them a tour of the new facilities.”

“Aye, sir!” Bradford said, dropping her arm.

Michaels turned and departed, the Duke alongside.

Bradford turned and glanced at the keshmin, then the Marines. “We just put up a whole new mini-compound for this op. Let’s go to the barracks first, then our training facilities.” She considered a moment. “Then we’ll show you the MCX they just put up on the other side of base. There’s not much there, yet, but they might occasionally have something in stock worth buying while you’re here. By then, it should be chow time.”

The two enlisted artificers gave agreeable nods, perking up at the mention of food.

Ayan and Sayiash both glanced at Anyo, taking their cue from him.

The Ganlin Earl narrowed his eyes at Bradford, his ears cocked at a distasteful angle, but nodded in allowance.

Bradford nodded her head past the Marines. “Barracks are this way, then.”

***

“Man, that guy is a dick,” Kimber muttered as they left the sparsely-stocked, and half-constructed, pre-assembled building that was MOB Tolkien’s MCX.

“And he seems to have a stick up his ass about us,” Dubois said, glancing over his shoulder at Anyo, who trailed behind the enlisted humans and keshmin, flanked by the other Ganlin nobles.

“It’s not just you,” Shiyan said, sniffing at the “snickers” the squad had purchased for him. “We’re from the same artillery regiment. He’s not in my line or battery, thank the gods, but I’ve passed him often enough. He has ‘a stick up his ass’ about everything.” He chuckled. “I like that phrase. I’m going to steal it.”

“Be our guest,” Edison said. “The Corps has shamelessly stolen enough of our own over the years.”

Shiyan nodded, then frowned at his Snickers, perplexed by the wrapper.

Rinn held up his own, and demonstrated how to open it, copying what he had seen the Marines do. The candy bars exposed, they both eyed them skeptically, gave them another sniff, and each took a bite.

Their ears shot up in unison. “Abof an’ belo’!” Rinn said around his bite. The sticky-chewy bit in the middle’s a bit awkward, but the nuts, and those are definitely nuts, give it a satisfying crunch … and it’s so sweet! He took another bite, and he and Shiyan fell into a race to see who could finish theirs the fastest. “So goo’!”

“Yeah, I think chocolate’s a hit,” Sampson said.

“Yup,” Miller said.

“If it doesn’t kill them …” Bradford sighed.

“Wha’?” Shiyan asked, freezing with his tongue still on the inside of his wrapper.

“Nah, nothin’ we’ve fed to Shields’s made him keel over yet!” Kawalski waved away any concerns. “They’ll be fine.”

“I dunno … He shat out that pile of death while we were patrolling the wall Saturday morning …” Kimber said. “Looked like he wanted to die while doing it, too.”

“Nah, Mexican food will do that to anyone. Gomez about died doing the same thing.”

“Yeah, well, he also chugged half a bottle of Holy Jolokia,” Kimber laughed. “That would make anyone regret living on the way back out …”

“What’s bad about … ‘chocolate’?” Rinn asked, looking mournfully down at his empty wrapper. And it was so good, too …

“It’s got alkaloids in it that can kill a lot of creatures if they eat enough of it,” Bradford said. “Don’t know what they’ll do to you, which is why you really need to stop eating whatever these guys try to feed you.”

“But they’re safe for humans?”

“More or less,” Bradford shrugged. “We just tolerate them a lot better, I think.”

“Dude, humans can eat just about anything,” Edison said. “There’s not a thing on Earth that someone hasn’t eaten or tried to eat at some point or other.”

“Well,” Rinn said, eyeing his wrapper for any residual trace of chocolate. “If we keshmin can survive Royal Host field rations, I think we can survive anything you guys make as food.”

Shiyan snorted. “Gods above know that for a truth.”

“Speaking of food …” Tyetyeh said, holding up his own empty wrapper. “Are we going to have more of these?”

Bradford chuckled. “Chow hall’s right up here. It’s not gourmet dining, but it’s better than MREs.”

“Human field rations,” Rinn said when Tyetyeh cocked an ear. “Gourmet dining compared to our field rations.”

The straight-horned artificer nodded, scratching an ear. “So, uh … Ahyat,” he said in a low voice. “I can’t help but notice that the humans seem to, ah … match up in some areas. If you put a sack over their head, or snuff out the candles, one might not be able to tell the difference, if you know what I mean.”

Rinn blinked in initial confusion, but his ears twitched as realization started to dawn. I don’t know what you mean … I don’t know what you mean … I don’t know what you mean … Fuck …

“You haven’t, per chance, gone chasing some … alternate tail, have you? And maybe be able to give a guy’s report, eh?” Tyetyeh waggled his ears suggestively.

Staring straight ahead, Rinn locked his expression in place, his agitation betrayed only by a slight twitch of the ear. “Artificer Tyetyeh, such a thing would be unspeakably inappropriate, and unbecoming, as has been most of your dialogue.”

“Ah, Ahyat, don’t be a prude! We’re soldiers in the midst of a war! Manly men, doing menly things! We might die tomorrow, ‘s what I always tell ‘em. Gets me up their skirts right quick.” He waggled an ear. “That, and a coin or two, if you know what I mean.”

Rinn was saved from further uncomfortable conversation by their arrival at the chow hall. After brief directions to the lords on where to find the officers’ mess, the enlisted persons fell into line for food. He made sure to distance himself from Tyetyeh, and found himself sitting next to Bradford, as usual. Is she doing that on purpose?

“So, he’s quite the womanizer,” she said, nodding at his recent source of annoyance.

“It’s to be expected,” he sighed, “Given his horns.”

“I noticed they seemed unusually straight. What’s up with that?”

“He had them straightened.” He paused to scoop a bite of food into his mouth. The main dish was some kind of meat with gravy and noodles. Bradford raised an eyebrow, and he continued when his mouth was clear again. “For most keshmin, commoners, our horns curve backwards, to varying degrees.” He gestured at his own horns while scarfing down a couple more bites. It wasn’t the greatest meal he ever had, but it was better than most he’d had in the last few years. “Fo’ th’ nomble fa’lies,” he swallowed. “For most of them, their horns curve forward to some degree. The royal family has a sharp jog forward, like Lord Commander Yeshai’s horns.”

“Your noble classes are based on the curve of your horns?” she gave him sidelong glance.

“No,” he shook his head. “Not exactly … I mean …” He frowned. Well, when you put it that way … “Yeah, kind of …” He sighed. “It’s a sign of family lineage, and all the original Ganlin noble families had forward-curving horns. Not all nobility come from families with forward-curving horns anymore, but most do.”

“So forward curving horns are a sign of nobility. Wealth and prosperity. While rearward-curving horns are a sign of peasantry. So, he had his horns straightened to make himself more attractive?”

“Yef.” He nodded, grateful for the opportunity to shovel more food down his gullet.

“But why straight? Why not curve them forward?”

“Because that could get him charged with impersonating nobility.”

“Ah, such a great and dastardly crime.” Bradford rolled her eyes.

“Yef,” Rinn nodded around another bite of food. “So, people who want to appear wealthier or higher status than they are, usually to impress the ladies, will have the shape of their horns modified.”

“But if they’re just peasants, they don’t dare have them curved forward.”

“Yes,” he nodded, scraping his plate and scooping what was left onto his fork.

“That’s so silly …” she shook her head, then sighed. “Though, I guess we can’t talk too much. We used to discriminate against and even enslave each other based on skin color.” She frowned. “Some still do. Discriminate, that is. Slavery is illegal. So is discrimination, but that’s harder to prove and take action against.”

Rinn quirked an ear. “Slavery is … not common these days.” He gathered his utensils on his tray and stood up. Bradford quickly scooped the last of her food into her mouth and joined him.

“Tha’ could be a pro’lem,” she said, before swallowing. “At least in the long-term.”

He shrugged. “There are hardly any slaves in the Kingdom anymore.” He dropped his trash and utensils in the appropriate receptacles. “Most slaves were indentures who sold themselves into slavery to pay debts, or prisoners captured in battle. With the war against the elves going the way it has, the King offered to pay off any indenture, and pay double the standard rate for indenture for enlistment in the Royal Host. Between that, and the drafts, there aren’t many who would sell themselves to slavery.”

“And elves don’t let themselves get captured.” Exiting the chow hall, Bradford stepped to the side and sat down on a stack of lumber that hadn’t been used or moved yet.

“Almost never, yes,” he nodded, joining her.

He looked down at the precision-cut timbers they sat on, then up at the rapidly-built structures around him, some of which were still under construction. “Will you really teach us all of this?” he asked, waving at the sights around them.

“Don’t see why not,” she said, then snorted. “Besides, it’s not like we could do much to prevent it. There are too many businesses that will jump at the new markets and trade you guys represent. We couldn’t stop it if we tried.” She frowned. “You’ll just have to be careful they don’t rob you blind.”

“Ha!” he waggled his ears at her. “Our lords and merchants are quite good at robbing people blind themselves! I think we’ll be fine.”

She chuckled. “Good. We haven’t always done right by people who were technologically behind us.” She frowned. “We’re more conscious of it now, and I think you guys have plenty of leverage with your magic, but it’s a trap we might fall into without even realizing.”

He nodded, then glanced back at the chow hall as his nose twitched. Yenyed was walking out alongside Shiyan and the rest of the squad. Does any woman fall for him, as heavy as he throws it on?

“Where to next, boss?” Kawalski asked.

“Wherever they tell us,” Bradford said, nodding at the door to the officer’s mess, where the nobles were exiting, along with Colonel Michaels, Major Winters, and Lord Commander Yeshai. She stood up as they approached, and the whole group popped to attention and saluted. “Good afternoon, sir!” she said as Michaels returned the salute.

“At ease, Sergeant.” He glanced at the squad. “Marines, artificers, we have your assignments.”

Yeshai stepped forward, reading from a scrap of paper. “Lord Sayiash, you will be joining Second Artificer Ahyat in Echo Company. Lord Ayan, you and Second Artificer Tyetyeh will be joining Foxtrot Company. Knight Captain Anyo, you and Second Artificer Yenyed will be joining Delta Company. I will be working with Colonel Michaels and Major Winters in Headquarters Company. Are there any questions?”

“No, my lord,” the artificers quietly echoed.

Rinn glanced at Shiyan, a little disappointed that he was not assigned to Echo Company with him. We were never great friends, but we were friends, and I have so few of them left these days … He rolled his ears. Either way, we’ll still be working together.

“Excellent,” Yeshai said, folding the paper and tucking it away.

“Sergeant,” Michaels said, “Take your men and escort everyone to their respective companies and provide introductions.” He nodded at Winters and Yeshai. “We have some training plans to finalize.”

“Aye, sir,” Bradford nodded.

“Oh, and Sergeant,” Michaels said, pausing as he started to turn away. “Make sure the company commanders know that, once everyone has settled in, they are to be taken to Medical. Everyone needs to get their shots.”

“Aye, sir,” she said again. Michaels gave her a satisfied nod, then turned and led Winters and Yeshai away.

Bradford turned to look at the squad and accompanying artificers. “Back to the barracks it is.”

“You said we’ll all be sleeping there together?” Tyetyeh asked, leering. “Because if there are any ladies around, I won’t be sleeping at all, if you know what I mean.”

Bradford pursed her lips, Rinn sighed, Davies chuckled, and the rest of the squad rolled their eyes or suppressed a groan. At least we won’t have to deal with him so much …

Episode 13

“This is fucking bullshit,” Kimber muttered, standing in line with the rest of the company. Earth’s sun was just barely peaking over the horizon. Gahla’s was hidden by the portal. “I’ve marched more under Khatri than I did in all of fucking bootcamp.”

“The man does love his cadence …” Dubois whispered.

“Lock it up, here comes Captain Spader,” Bradford said through barely-moving lips.

Rinn flicked an ear in amusement. We only ever traveled by marching! He shifted his weight slightly, resisting the urge to adjust his “PT” uniform. Though I understand their complaints about this thing … He didn’t know where it came from. He had barely sat up in his bunk before someone threw it in his face.

“Company! Attenhuh!” First Sergeant Khatri called as Captain Spader fell in with their formation. Khatri was as awake and alert as Rinn had always seen him. Spader looked like he was pretending to not be as groggy as everyone else felt.

“Forward! March!” The company stepped into motion, and Rinn was glad they started with their left foot.

Two feet, he mused, Coin flip’s chance we’d both train to start on the same side …

“Yooo lef-righty-lo-ri-lo-righty-lo-ri-lef-ri-lef-righty-lo-ri-lef!” Khatri called out, setting the pace. His typical, angrily-grating voice took on a smoother tone as he called the cadence.

“Column left, march!” The lead rows pivoted as they reached the end of the square in front of their barracks, and with a “Column right, march!” Echo Company snaked onto the road.

Khatri took a deep breath, and belted out in a clear-but-still-angry singing voice, “Around her hair wore a yellow ribbon!”

“AROUND HER HAIR SHE WORE A YELLOW RIBBON!” The Marines echoed back.

“She wore it in the springtime, in the early month of May!”

“SHE WORE IT IN THE SPRINGTIME, IN THE EARLY MONTH OF MAY!”

As the cadence continued, voices that started groggy or croaking cleared as they fell into the familiar rhythm.

“And if you asked her why the hell she wore it!”

“AND IF YOU ASKED HER WHY THE HELL SHE WORE IT!”

Rinn joined in, copying the words in English rather than relying on the translation spell. He got a few smiles and funny looks as he yowled more than he spoke, but the sing-song shouting of the cadence masked the worst of it.

“She wore it for that young Marine who’s far, far away!”

“SHE WORE IT FOR THAT YOUNG MARINE WHO’S FAR, FAR AWAY!”

“Far away!”

“FAR AWAY!”

“Far Away!”

“FAR AWAY!”

“She wore it for that young Marine who’s far, far away!”

“SHE WORE IT FOR THAT YOUNG MARINE WHO’S FAR, FAR AWAY!”

Rinn found the rhythm of marching feet to be comfortingly familiar. Their pace was slightly different from what he was used to, but he adjusted in no time. He could have kept ranks in his sleep. Heh, done it many times before …

Even the cadence was familiar, in subject if not in tune and style. The melancholy longing of lovers separated by war.

Until it switched to a ribald irreverence the Royal Host officers would never have allowed.

“Behind their door her daddy kept his shotgun!”

“BEHIND THEIR DOOR HER DADDY KEPT HIS SHOTGUN!”

“He kept it in the springtime, in the early month of May!”

“HE KEPT IT IN THE SPRINGTIME, IN THE EARLY MONTH OF MAY!”

“And if you asked him why the hell he kept it!”

“AND IF YOU ASKED HIM WHY THE HELL HE KEPT IT!”

“He kept it just to blow that young Marine’s ass away!”

“HE KEPT IT JUST TO BLOW THAT YOUNG MARINE’S ASS AWAY!”

“Blow away!”

“BLOW AWAY!” The Marines sang back with gusto, apparently enthused by the thought of being blown away by an angry father for courting his daughter.

“Blow away!”

“BLOW AWAY!”

Or maybe it is just any violence and destruction they’re excited for …

“He kept it just to blow that young Marine’s ass away!”

Yes, that is most certainly it, he thought, as he enthusiastically joined in.

“HE KEPT IT JUST TO BLOW THAT YOUNG MARINE’S ASS AWAY!”

Two songs later, and Echo Company was filing onto a rough, dirt road that ran in a big circle. It looks like it is supposed to be something, eventually, but it’s not even half-finished.

Their formation slotted in between the other companies in the battalion, who were still forming up and taking roll-call.

“Gotta admit,” Dubois muttered once they had stopped and been put at ease. “Raging cockbag that he is, First Sergeant just had us make the entire rest of the battalion look like a sloppy bag of dicks.”

As a few others chuckled at the thought, Rinn recognized in several of the Marines from other companies the familiar glare of one enlisted person hating another for doing more work in front of officers, where they could get bright ideas.

Once the battalion had finished falling in and forming up, several Marines stepped forward and led them through some light “warm-up” exercises.

“Alright, Devildogs!” The battalion Sergeant Major stepped forward. “Since this war isn’t being orchestrated by the Air Force, rather than building us a fancy PT track, our funding and resources have been focused on killing the enemy!” A chuckle rippled through the formation, along with a couple oorahs. “But fear not! Your favorite activity of the day is not canceled! We’re Marines! We adapt and overcome! Instead of running on a manicured track, we will be going on a sightseeing tour of our war effort, and do laps around the base!” The chuckles were replaced by groans. “And for extra fun, we will be competing to see which company can call the loudest cadence during their run!” The groans got worse.

“Battalion! Attenhuh!”

Rinn snapped to attention, and the companies were given the order to move out. Filing back onto the road, they started at a normal marching pace, but it wasn’t to last. An order was passed to Delta Company, at the head of their column, and they picked up the pace, opening a gap for Echo. Rinn’s ear twitched in mild concern.

“Echo Company! Forward, at a double-time, MARCH!”

The column immediately kicked into high-gear.

“Left! Left! Lefty right le-eft!” Khatri sang.

“LEFT! LEFT! LEFTY RIGHT LE-EFT!” the Marines chanted back.

“Left! Left! Keep it in step, now!”

“LEFT! LEFT! KEEP IT IN STEP, NOW!”

The long train of the battalion hoofed it down the road at what Rinn found to be an alarming pace. How long are we supposed to keep this up for?

“When my Granny was ninety-two!”

“WHEN MY GRANNY WAS NINETY-TWO!”

“She did PT better than you!”

“SHE DID PT BETTER THAN YOU!”

They were serious about the distance …. Rinn panted, determined to keep up.

“Oh-oh!”

“OH-OH!”

“Ah-ha!”

“AH-HA!”

“PT!”

“PT!”

“Good for you!”

“GOOD FOR YOU!”

“Good for me!”

“GOOD FOR ME!”

Rinn’s breath came in painful gasps, his legs burned, and he had stopped calling back cadence what felt like miles ago. I can’t drop out …

“He-ey Coast Guard!”

“HE-EY COAST GUARD!”

“Puddle pirate Coast Guard!”

“PUDDLE PIRATE COAST GUARD!”

“Get in your dinghies and follow me!”

“GET IN YOUR DINGHIES AND FOLLOW ME!”

“I am a US Ma-rine!”

“I AM A US MA-RINE!”

Anyo dropped out, staggering off to the side behind Ayan and Sayiash. Yeshai was still in the death march, somewhere with the battalion leadership up ahead, and he caught a glimpse of Tyetyeh. His head was down, bobbing from side-to-side. Foam was dribbling from his mouth, but he continued to drive on.

Nalmu looks about ready to die, but he hasn’t given up! Quite the difference from yesterday! The memory of the effeminate yipe he had made when receiving his “peanut butter” shot brought a brief smile to Rinn’s face, despite the stabbing stich in his side.

“Hey-oh Captain Jack!”

“HEY-OH CAPTAIN JACK!”

“Meet me down by the railroad track!”

“MEET ME DOWN BY THE RAILROAD TRACK!”

“Put a rifle in my ha-and!”

“PUT A RIFLE IN MY HA-AND!”

“I’m gonna be a shootin’ man!”

“I’M GONNA BE A SHOOTIN’ MAN!”

“A shootin’ man!”

“A SHOOTIN’ MAN!”

“The best I can!”

“THE BEST I CAN!”

The Marines thundered on. Rinn couldn’t tell if the pounding in his skull was his pulse or the sound of feet stomping the ground.

Davies fell out of their formation, staggering off to the side as vomit streamed from his mouth.

He passed Duke Yeshai sitting beside the road, panting and gasping for breath.

The next bend in the road, he saw Tyetyeh stumble out.

I refuse to quit.

“He-ey Marine!”

“HE-EY MARINE!”

“Where have you been!”

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!”

“I’ve been to Korea!”

I’m going to die …

“I’VE BEEN TO KOREA!”

“Fighting for liberty!”

“FIGHTING FOR LIBERTY!”

“Dying for freedom!”

“DYING FOR FREEDOM …”

Darkness consumed him.

*****

“You’re an idiot.” Bradford grinned at Rinn as he blinked at her, an IV in his arm. “Stubborn as all fuck, but still an idiot.”

Rinn sat in the back of an ambulance Humvee, a corpsman monitoring his vitals. He twitched an exhausted ear at her. “How can you keep running like that?”

“We train for it,” she snorted, rolling her eyes. “All the fucking time.” She gave him another grin. “Nothing like a twenty-mile run with a fifty-pound pack to start your day!”

He whimpered.

She chuckled. “It’s usually a lot less than that, but continuous running is what we evolved for. Chasing prey across the plains of Africa until it dropped of exhaustion.”

His ears sagged. “I don’t think we’ll be able to keep up …”

She patted his shoulder. “Probably not, but we’re kinda nuts about cardio, even by other human military standards, and we’re mechanized, so we don’t have to hoof it everywhere anymore.” She grinned, tapping him on his arm. “And! You were the last keshmin to fall out! You lasted a click and a half longer than the Duke and Nalmu, and they stayed in longer than Davies did.”

Rinn sat up, more than a little stiff, as the corpsman pulled the IV from his arm.

Ohh, he’s going to be feeling it in the morning … She gave him a sympathetic smile.

The corpsman wrapped a bandage around his arm, told him to take it easy for a while, but otherwise gave him a clean bill of health.

“Ready to get on with the rest of the day?” Bradford held out a hand and helped him climb out of the Humvee with a grin.

“You have entirely too much energy right now,” he said, giving her a glare and a grumpy ear flick.

She laughed, patting him on the back. “C’mon, we’ve got range day today, and you guys gotta go to the safety brief first.”

He nodded, stiffly falling in step with her. “Where is it at?”

“All the way over on the other side of the base!” She grinned.

He whined.

“Ha! Don’t worry, we’re taking a Humvee.”

“Thank the gods …” he said, his ears sagging in relief.

*****

Thirty minutes later, Rinn was settling into a chair in a room that reminded him of a lecture hall, if one were to be built on the cheap in a couple of days.

They had stopped at the barracks along the way, to change into their regular uniforms, and for Bradford to shower. Rinn had opted to avoid the wet fur of a shower, but took a few moments to freshen up with “baby wipes” before putting on a clean uniform.

Only a few Marines joined the keshmin at this brief. Most of the battalion was attending a separate brief, or assigned other training for that day. Each Company was scheduled to take turns at the range over the week.

On the wall, an image was projected as if with magic. A few moments after they arrived, the scene shifted from a snow-covered forest to a sandy desert.

“What … How are they doing that without magic?” Yenyed asked, his ears focused on the image. “What miracle is this?”

“Bigger miracle is that the projector works,” Bradford said, settling into her own seat.

“This is an Air Force building,” an older Marine said as he walked past her, toward the front. “The projector in our training building doesn’t work.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “That explains it.”

“Let’s get started,” the older Marine said, stepping up to a podium at the front of the room. “I’m Staff Sergeant Rickles. I’m one of Echo Company’s Small Arms Weapons Instructors. I’ll be covering basic small arms instruction here, and after lunch I will be your Range Safety Officer for today. First things first, in the event of a fire, or other emergency in which we need to evacuate, we will go back out the door you came in, down the hall to the left, and muster across the street. If anyone gets lost or doesn’t know the way, I’m as flammable as anyone else, so just follow me. If we need to shelter in place, we’ll secure the door, and hunker down as best we can. If we come under significant attack, we’ll muster back with our units, arm up, and kill the enemy. Any questions?”

A glance around the room revealed none.

“Outstanding! Now that that’s out of the way, the first thing we’re going to go over are the Four Universal Weapon Safety Rules.” He clicked a small device in his hand, and the projection behind him changed. The desert disappeared and was replaced by a white screen with human letters. “So long as you follow these four, universal rules, whether you’re using weapons here at work, or your own personal firearms at home, you will never have a negligent discharge.”

He clicked to the next slide, showing a single line of human text, with the first word larger and underlined. He took a breath, then paused, eyes narrowed at the keshmin. “None of you can read this, can you?”

They all shook their heads in the negative, with reinforcing ear flicks.

He frowned, then shrugged. “You know what? Fuck it. It helps me. I’ll keep using the damn slideshow.” He straightened. “Anyway. Four universal safety rules. Rule Number One: Treat every weapon as if it were loaded.”

He paced a short distance back and forth, meeting eyes across the room, his tone loud and firm. “Ninety-five percent of all negligent discharges occur because people assumed the gun wasn’t loaded, even though it actually was. There are countless examples of people forgetting to clear their weapon, and then doing something stupid with their gun, or clearing the weapon and not realizing or forgetting they put a round back in the chamber, and then doing something stupid with their gun.”

He made a point of looking each keshmin in the eye. “So even if you have just personally verified your weapon clear and safe, always, always, always handle it as if there is a round in the chamber.”

He clicked the slideshow again, and more words appeared on the screen. “Rule Number Two: Never point a weapon at anything you do not intend to shoot. When your weapon fires, death comes out the barrel. That bullet is going to hit anything and anyone standing in front of the muzzle, and they’re going to have a real close and personal encounter with the Grim Reaper. So always maintain awareness and control of your muzzle! It’s real simple. If you don’t want something shot, don’t point your fucking weapon at it. Oorah?”

“Oorah,” Rinn said, along with the Marines, earning him a few ear twitches from the other keshmin.

“Rule Number Three.” The Staff Sergeant clicked his slide again. “Keep your finger straight and off the trigger until ready to fire. When you pull the trigger, the gun goes bang. If you don’t want the gun to go bang, keep your booger hooks off the bang switch until you’re ready to fire. Oorah?”

“Oorah.”

“Rule Four.” More words flew onto the screen. “Keep the weapon on safe until ready to fire. The safety keeps the weapon from shooting, even when your dumb ass pulls the trigger by mistake, because you weren’t following Rule Number Three. You want to maintain the weapon in as safe a condition as possible until you are ready for it to be unsafe. But don’t rely on the safety alone! Because shit breaks, and Old Man Murphy’ll make sure it happens at the worst possible time. That’s why we have the other three rules. Oorah?”

“Oorah.”

“So those are your four universal safety rules. Treat, Never, Keep, Keep. Once again, so long as you follow these four rules, you will never have a negligent discharge. You are required to follow these rules on the range. This is your first and only warning. If I catch any of you shitbirds violating these safety rules on my range, I will spartan kick your asses straight off it, and you can have the pleasure of explaining to your CO why you’re a fucking dumbass. Oorah?”

“Oorah.”

He clicked the next slide, glanced at it, then at the keshmin. “Do any of you have any idea how a firearm actually works?”

Rinn glanced at the other artificers, then slowly raised his hand, earning himself a look from Anyo. “They work just like a bean shooter, but instead of a little bean being pushed by the breath from your lungs, it’s a slug of metal being pushed by hot smoke and gas from burning powder.”

The Staff Sergeant made a “not bad” face. “In a nutshell.” He nodded. “Unlike your standard pea shooter, a bullet leaves the barrel of a gun at thousands of feet per second, faster than the speed of sound. If you get hit by one, it will ruin your day.”

Rickles then stepped them through the basic mechanics of firearms, their basic functions, and the cycle of operations. Most of the Keshmin leaned forward when Rickles clicked to a slide that showed the moving internal parts of a gun. Even Anyo quirked an interested ear.

Satisfied that they had a basic understanding of how a gun worked, Rickles shifted to marksmanship fundamentals, condition codes, and range commands. His instruction was thorough and efficient, and he had no problem demonstrating holds and carries multiple times.

“Alright,” Rickles said, clicking the projection black. “Now we’re moving into the hands-on portion.” He gestured at an array of small arms that had been laid out while he was giving his presentation. “We’re going to go over basic holds and carries, and dry-fire drills.” Rinn stood up and led the other keshmin to the table. Under Rickles’ guidance, they were all given a pistol, shown how to properly hold it, operate it, and went through several dry-fire drills. Then they walked through the same with a “rifle,” and a “shotgun.”

By the time they broke for lunch, Rinn’s head was reeling with information.

“Do they really expect us to remember all of this, or even use their firearms?” Anyo muttered to Yeshai, Ayan, and Sayiash as they filed out of the room.

“With respect, m’lord,” Rinn said quietly, “As every soldier in the Royal Host is first a Pikeman, every Marine is first a Rifleman. I’ve had to take up a pike when my mana crystals were exhausted before. Facing such a situation again, I would much prefer to pick up a rifle, instead.”

“Yes, well, some of us actually know how to conserve our mana crystals, Second Artificer,” Anyo sneered as he brushed past. “I don’t expect to be so wasteful.”

Rinn’s ears swept low against his skull as he glared at Anyo’s back. And some of us have actually fought in this war, he thought, biting his tongue to keep himself from saying so out loud. Anyo rolled his ears dismissively as he and the other lords walked away.

“Officers can be dickheads in any world, can’t they?” Bradford asked, stepping up behind him.

He snorted, waggling his ears in the affirmative.

“Meh, don’t let him get to you, he’s just a deluded asshole,” she said, punching him in the shoulder. “Buy you lunch?”

“We have to pay for our food?” he asked, quirking an ear at her and rubbing his shoulder as he fell in step beside her.

“Shh! Not so loud!” she mock-whispered. “Don’t give them any fucking ideas!”

He snorted again and smiled, keeping an ear locked on her. “Penny-pinching bean-counters are dickheads in any world, aren’t they?”

“Fucking assholes, the lot of them,” she smiled, giving him a wink.

*****

“I ain’t sayin’ I’m the best shot ‘round er nuthin,” Davies said, an unusual twang in his voice, “But I did grow up with ‘em. It’s in my blood, you might say.”

“Oh?” Rinn asked, quirking an ear at him as he scooped up some more mac and cheese.

Bradford sighed, rolling her eyes. Here we go again … She looked at Kawalski, who sat on the other side of her from Davies, and mimed his next words in near-perfect time.

“Skoo! I usually hide the accent, on account o’ it not fittin’ in well in the more developed places and all, but I grew up in South Carolina, yes-sir-ee! Damn near born with a rifle in one hand, and a rebel flag in t’other!”

“Oh, stuff it, Davies,” Bradford said as Kawalski snorted bug juice out his nose. Kimber started thumping his back as the lanky Marine choked and gasped for air. Rinn turned, an ear raised in alarm.

“As you’re so fond of reminding everyone,” she continued as Kawalski coughed, gasping for breath. “We’ve been stuck together since we left bootcamp, so I know all about your backstory.” He gave her a shocked look, but she waved him to silence before he could voice a protest. “Your family moved from Charleston to Massachusetts when you were three. You spent most of your life living south of Worcester.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You’re as much a southern rebel as I am.”

His shocked expression turned into a tight-faced, angry glare. Ha, haven’t seen him throw a dirty look like that in a while …

He worked his mouth like he wanted to say something, but the wind had been taken out of his sails. Instead, he turned to glare down at his plate, scooping up a fork full of macaroni for cover.

“Ho, slow down on the carbs there, brah,” Stephens said, giving him a nudge. “You should eat more lean, trim yourself down a bit.”

“Yeah, man, you’ve let yourself go while on med hold.”

“Eh, now that he’s back with the battalion, the Corps’ll get him in shape again, soon enough.”

Davies scowled at his plate as the others piled on as much nutrition advice as he had piled food onto his plate.

*****

Rinn flicked his ear under the ear muffs he had been given as the Staff Sergeant finished a brief review of the safety rules they had been instructed on that morning. The acrid odor of gunsmoke twinged his nose, accompanying the staccato pop and rattle of human weapons. The hearing protection wasn’t perfect, but it did make the roar of gunfire bearable. He shifted the “safety glasses” again, searching for a position that kept them on his face while still being some form of comfortable.

The Staff Sergeant made sure they were all wearing their safety equipment properly, or as close to proper as keshmin could get wearing gear made for humans, and led them up to the firing line. They were surrounded by berms of piled earth, and sheets of wood supported by stacks of sandbags seemed to be the most significant construction.

Several Marines knelt in a line, working through various marksmanship demonstrations for rifle and pistol. Watching them, Rinn had to stifle a few yawns. The concussive thump and crack of human weapons was exciting and sometimes startling, but he had seen it before and watching other people shoot simple targets affixed to slats of wood was only so interesting. It would be more fun if they let us shoot their guns today …

After showing off their accuracy against paper targets, the Marines moved to effects demonstration. They set up blocks of “ballistics gel,” to demonstrate penetration and damage effects, and also demonstrated effectiveness against steel plates, then human body armor, and even a few captured elven armor sets.

Even Anyo was suitably impressed by the damage the human “rifles” could do.

Moving to another range, they were told the next demo was of handheld bombs.

“Heheh,” Bradford chuckled as they walked up to several dug-out pits. “Grenades.”

Standing well back, they watched as several Marines took turns tossing senki-sized balls at stacks of sandbags and frames of slatted wood. The sharp bang of the explosions thumped Rinn in the chest even from where they were standing, nearly fifty tails behind the Marines.

Yeshai dipped his head. “These humans have impressive destructive power that even a common solider can throw around.”

“And that’s just what they can throw,” Bradford said, unslinging her rifle as the Marines “down range” evacuated their pits and moved behind them. At the Range Master’s command, she loaded a shell into the fat tube slung under her barrel, put the weapon to her shoulder, and fired. With a heavy thoomp! Another fruit-sized ball was flung from her weapon, traveling slow enough that he could actually see it. It struck the ground a hundred and fifty tails away, kicking up a cloud of dust from the loose soil. Three more thoomps, and three more shots blasted more targets.

Re-slinging her rifle, Bradford smiled back at the incredulous looks some of the keshmin were giving her while they waited for other Marines to retrieve the targets.

“These holes are miniscule,” Anyo said, fingering a tear in one of the heavy paper targets.

“A needle through the heart will still kill a man,” Yeshai said, examining a captured set of elven plate and chain. The plate had only been scratched and gouged by the explosions, but the chain had two holes torn through it. He wiggled his fingers in them, then pointed at the gemblade’s plate with a gaping hole in it. Bradford had scored a direct hit on that one. “And that is no needle.”

Anyo snorted, but flicked a grudging acknowledgement before redonning his ear muffs.

Moving on, they were led to another block of targets with another group of Marines. Rinn recognized one of the weapons that Kawalski always carried, distinctive in the belt of ammunition that trailed out of it. A few other weapons were present, similar but larger.

Rinn was impressed by the steady barrage of death and destruction just one of the weapons could spit out, even though he knew what to expect.

His companions, however, had not.

Anyo, Sayiash, and Ayan were technically present at the battle, but not on the front lines. Duke Yeshai and Shiyan were both active in the fight, but Tyetyeh was the only one of them still fighting a withdrawal when the humans arrived, and he said he held in place when Two/Five surged past. He had to suppress an anticipatory chuckle. They haven’t seen this before.

He grinned as the first machine gun, an “M249” like Kawalski carried, opened up. The Marine hosed his target with a torrent of bullets, and the other keshmins’ earmuffs all jerked as their ears tried to stand straight up.

Two more M249s started up, alternating fire as the first reloaded. Seconds later, and three of them were chattering back and forth, maintaining a non-stop stream of fire. As they expended the last of their ammunition, another collection of guns was set up. These were larger, heavier, and rattled at a slower pace with a deeper voice. Steel targets down-range rang as they were pelted.

A sergeant walked by, handing out twin-tubed artefacts dubbed “binoculars.” After a demonstration by Bradford, and with a little fiddling of his own, he managed to figure them out. He put them to his eyes and back down several times, studying the device.

“How do these work without magic?” he asked, shouting over the machinegun fire.

“Optics!” Bradford shouted back with a grin.

“What?” He gave her a confused look, his ear twitching under his muffs.

“Curved glass!”

He glanced at the binoculars again, shrugged at the other keshmin, and put them back up to his eyes. It was only then that he noticed the dirt being kicked up behind the steel targets, and the flashes of sparks as the rounds punched right through them.

The “machine gun” demo finished up with what the Marines called “the Ma Deuce,” which was mounted on top of a Humvee. The Marine manning it cocked a lever, and it spit out a deafening stream of glowing bolts that punched through steel plates and shattered blocks of cement like a hot knife through butter.

The keshmin stared at the destruction in awe.

“This would completely change the nature of war …” Yeshai said, visibly shaken. He looked up as a pair of twin-engine “jets” rumbled overhead, on their way to conduct an air patrol. He looked as if he truly saw the aircraft for the first time. “And so would they …” He stared after them, lost in thought.

Anyo looked at the jets, then back to the cooling M2, and his ears swept back as he frowned.

“We’re not quite done,” Staff Sergeant Rickles said as another Humvee rolled up, this one with a fatter, stubbier gun mounted on top.

“What do you have for us, now?” Ayan said.

“In a word,” Staff Sergeant said, grinning as he opened the rear door of the Humvee to reveal several boxes. “Grenades.”

***

“I don’t trust them,” Anyo said, glaring at the plate of human food in front of him. “And I question the wisdom of having any dealings with them. It strikes me as hiring a yishca to guard the flock against hiyens.”

Sayiash nodded. “Yes. It’ll eat the hiyens, then it will turn around and eat your flock, and then you.”

“Their weapons are terrifyingly destructive,” Ayan said.

“And they just keep going!” Sayiash added. “They ran until we dropped, and then just kept going like it was nothing!”

“Primitive humans hunted by chasing their prey until it dropped from exhaustion,” Rinn said. “They are merely well-adapted to endurance.”

“And that is supposed to be comforting how?” Anyo snapped, giving him a glare.

Tyetyeh and Yenyed both glanced at him, but kept their heads down, not saying anything.

Yeshai quietly ate his dinner, making no comment on the conversation.

Anyo shook his head. “With their weapons and their physical strength, there is nothing to stop them from turning on us and taking what they like once the elves are dealt with.” He snorted. “If they even decided to wait that long.”

“Their world is prosperous, much more than ours even before the war, and they have already started sharing with us!” Rinn objected. “With their weapons, they could have fortified the portal and never let the elves through, yet they readily chose to help us.” He had to consciously keep his ears low. He was wildly speaking out of turn, but Anyo had been disparaging the humans since they had all sat down in private, and nobody else was speaking against him.

“Yes, to help us, and then certainly to help themselves to our land and our resources,” Anyo waved a hand, his ears swinging back in disgust. “And us with nothing to stand against them.”

“We have magic,” Rinn said, glancing at Yeshai, who was still focused on his dinner. “They have none. No knowledge of it. Perhaps even no ability to wield it. There is much that they would be willing to trade for it, including much of their technology.”

“And what is to prevent them from taking it by force?” Anyo snarled, then snorted in disgust, his ears standing straight up. “You speak of matters of statecraft and strategy of which you have no knowledge, Second Artificer. You should leave such discussions to your betters.”

Rinn’s ears flared up in response, and he opened his mouth to retort before he realized what he was doing. He snapped his jaws shut and swept his ears low and back, staring down at his own half-finished meal.

Anyo glared at him for a moment, then flicked an ear in dismissal. He lifted his chin, turning away from the peasant that was beneath his notice. “The humans are too much of a threat to be trusted. If it were up to me, we would close the portal immediately, and sever all ties with them.”

Yeshai snorted, shaking his head. “That is not an option.” He set his fork down and leaned back with a sigh. “We have no choice but to trust the humans. If not for them, we would be dead. Nearly all our remaining strength was here, and the elves smashed through it like we were nothing. We were on the very cusp of defeat when they arrived, and it would have been total.”

Anyo opened his mouth to object, but Yeshai waved him to silence. “What portions of the Royal Host and our militias that survived could have delayed them long enough for a new Host to be raised, and the war would have carried on a few more years, but we’ve already lost half the Kingdom. Our treasury is spent. Millions are dead. Millions more are displaced and starving. The largest armies we have ever assembled have been whittled to nothing or smashed entire.”

He shook his head, his ears flicking through anger and frustration, and a brief hint of exhaustion. “We had lost. We would have dragged the war on like a twitching corpse, but our most optimistic projections gave us three, maybe four years, at best, before Ganlin, and all of our people were destroyed. The war was over in all but the dying.”

The young duke leaned forward. “And make no mistake. The humans have bought us a reprieve, and preserved the bulk of our remaining forces, but without them we would still lose. We need them in this war. We cannot survive without them.”

Picking up his fork, he examined the four-pronged instrument with an amused quirk of his ear for a moment before using it to stab a small, orange tuber. “Ahyat is right about their apparent willingness to help us and work with us.” He pointed the speared tuber at Rinn. “Regardless of their long-term intentions, they do not appear to have any interest in our extermination, unlike the elves. That, we’ll take. And for now, be glad for it.”

He popped the tuber into his mouth, crunching away at it for a moment before swallowing. He waved his fork in the air. “Put this discussion aside, the argument is irrelevant. The task before us is to build our relationship with the humans, cement their interest in our alliance, and learn from them as much as we can.”

Anyo and the other nobles nodded their heads in acknowledgement, though the sweep of Anyo’s ears made it clear he still was not happy about it.

Yeshai finished munching another tuber. “To that end, we must prepare our demonstrations for tomorrow. Tyetyeh, I am told that, though your technique is raw, you have channeled remarkable amounts of mana on the battlefield. It seems you would be our best demonstrator of brute offensive spells.”

“As you say, your grace,” Tyetyeh said, his normally brash attitude demure in the presence of such exalted nobility.

“And Ahyat,” Yeshai nodded at him. “It is my understanding that your particular talent for shield work has earned you a nickname among the humans.”

“Yes, your grace,” Rinn said with a nod, his ears swept low.

“Excellent.” Yeshai grinned.

***

A ragged volley of shardbursts flashed and whined over the scraped earth, ripping holes in paper, mostly. Ayan’s shot punched through the wood frame of his target, just missing the paper, and Sayiash’s shot struck the ground directly in front, kicking up a clod of dirt. A half-second after the main volley, Anyo’s shot pulsed out, striking the center of his target 150 tails away.

“Cease fire! Cease fire!” the Range Master called. “Clear your weapons, and bench them.”

Rinn pulled the mana crystal from his stave and set it on the ground in front of him. It couldn’t discharge without an artificer to activate it, but he understood the humans’ caution. They handled their own weapons with the same care.

“The line is cold! You may relax your eyes and ears. Shooters, go down range and collect your targets.”

Rinn stepped forward with the other artificers, walking downrange to retrieve his paper silhouette. There wasn’t an abundance of junior Marines to do the task for him at the moment.

When they returned, the targets were laid out for the Marines to observe. Most of them had holes scattered across the silhouette, though Rinn’s pattern was concentrated in the center. Anyo’s target had a hole where the center used to be. Though he had always taken an extra second or two to take his shot, Rinn noted to himself. Mine always led the volley.

“Not bad,” said Gunnery Sergeant Valdez. He was the Range “OIC” from Delta Company, who were at the range that day. “You’re definitely dropping off in accuracy faster than a rifle with iron sights past 100 meters, but you’re about on-par at a hundred meters or less.”

The officers sent by ONI to observe the keshmin demonstrations nodded, but made no comment.

“Dude, we should totally get them a red dot or an ACOG,” one of the Marines suggested, eyeing their staves. “Shouldn’t be too hard to bolt a picatinny to those things.”

“Aw, dude, and get a laser sight and a flashlight, too.”

“Yeah, and add a M203. Hit ‘em with a pew-pew, then boom!”

“Boys,” Bradford said, shaking her head, “You’re thinking about this all wrong. They can do boom already.” She paused for effect. “Chainswords.”

“... Yeeaahh!”

Rinn shook his head as the Marines started a competition, one-upping each other with increasingly absurd things to mount to a stave.

“Alright, First Squad’s all finished up on our little make-shift dynamic range, and got it all set back up for you guys.” Valdez said. “Who’s up first?”

The artificers briefly exchanged glances, then Yenyed raised a hand, his tail flicking back and forth in excitement. “I’ll go.”

“Right this way.”

Rinn walked over to Tyetyeh, giving him a nod. “Hey, I noticed the spell structure of your shardburst was a bit different from the standard. You bled a lot more energy, and it looked like you just piled on layers for cohesion, and made up for the loss by dumping in more mana.”

“Aw, well,” he said, glancing up while he puffed his chest and squared his shoulders, his voice artificially deepened. “You know, sometimes you get the urge to just punch your way through something,” he slapped a fist into his palm, “And can’t be bothered with being fancy about it.”

“Can I see your spell structure?” Rinn asked, maintaining patience as a niggling suspicion began to grow. He folded his hands open as he formed an image artifice. The interweaving lines and nodes of his shardburst spell structure appeared, formatted in standard notation. It was a fairly simple spell, but the notation mimicked the ethereal structure of the artifice, giving it a certain elegance.

“Is this an ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?’ kinda thing? Heheh, if you know what I mean.”

Rinn held his expression neutral, resisting the urge to flinch his ears.

“I’m not actually- and I don’t want to see, I mean-“ he floundered, then frowned at the image Rinn was projecting, actually looking at it. “Is that it?” His voice had jumped an octave, and he leaned forward, giving Rinn a nose full of the musk he wore. “That’s … That’s all there is to it?”

“What does yours look like?” Rinn asked, resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose or cough. It’s not a terrible smell, he just lays it on way too heavy …

“Well, um …” He fumbled a moment as he twisted his hands, and a tangled knot of a spell appeared, piled over, layer upon layer. The notation was not only non-standard, but also inconsistent. Rinn narrowed his eyes, certain that if the spell structure was written on paper, it would be filled with notes scribbled in the margins.

Tyetyeh looked between the two. “Uh … Mine’s bigger?”

Rinn snorted a chuckle as he started picking through the tangled mess of Tyetyeh’s artificer. Some of this is pretty clever and intuitive, but it’s a cobbled patchwork of … patches. On patches … on cobbled patches! The further he dug, the more he expected to find tea stains and soiled laundry.

After several minutes of trying to make heads or tails of the artifice, Rinn collapsed it in frustration. “Here,” he said, shaking his head. “Let me see your stave. I’ll transfer my artifice and some basic spellstructs into it, and you can play around with them later.”

“Sure,” Tyetyeh said in almost a normal voice. He passed his stave over, and though it was well-maintained, Rinn had to suppress a distasteful flick of his ears at the thought of the contents, and what might have been wiped off it.

He quickly transferred the spellwork and passed it back. “You should be all set.”

“Thanks,” Tyetyeh said, giving him an honest, if somewhat awkward nod.

Rinn gave him an amicable flick of an ear, and walked over to watch the “dynamic” range. Anyo was making a run through, and Rinn was pleased to see that his accuracy suffered greatly when forced to move and engage targets at different ranges and behind cover, all while pressed for time.

He watched the Duke run through, and acquit himself reasonably well, then volunteered to go next. This looks like fun!

Waiting for fresh targets to be put up, he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. Most battles, particularly large-scale engagements, were founded on rigid formations and maneuvers, but smaller battles, skirmishes, and fighting on rough terrain often took on a much more dynamic, free-form element. It was the latter style that human battle doctrine was built around, and Rinn found it fascinating.

On the go command, Rinn sprinted forward, shooting a pair of spellshards at the first two targets, before sliding into cover. He leaned around, nailing a third, and a fourth, then burst from cover, springing towards a “building.” He saw a target peeking out of a “window,” and sent a pair of shardbursts streaking after it.

He skidded up to the door and moved through the house as quickly as he could. Three rooms and five targets later, he was back outside, lying against a berm. Peaking over, he spied three more targets. He popped up and his stave spat out three rapid pulses, one into each target.

Surging over the berm, he snapped a shot into a “surprise” target that popped up on a metal frame. Moving between cover points, he snapped off shots at two more targets, before sliding into the last cover point. His final set of targets were moving, behind crudely-painted wood silhouettes of what looked like a family, which he had been told he could not shoot.

They already had a few holes in them.

Three shots later, and he was done, with no new holes in the wooden family.

“Best time so far,” Valdez said when he returned to the bench with his targets. “Minute-and-a-half faster than anyone else.” He looked over the targets, all of which had one or more killing holes in them. “And you killed all the targets, with no collaterals. I’d normally shit all over you for shooting on the run, but it looks like it doesn’t really hurt the accuracy of a stave. That’s worth noting.”

He looked at his watch as the Marines resetting the targets returned. “Tyetyeh! You’re up!”

The keshmin in question looked up in surprise, then quickly dismissed the imagery of the spell structs he had been examining and hurried over. “Just point me at what you need a hole in, and I’ll smash it!”

***

Twenty minutes later, Rinn was lining up with Duke Yeshai, and Lords Ayan and Sayiash, preparing to demonstrate various other types of offensive artifices. Tyetyeh would follow after them with a brute power demo, and Anyo and Yenyed were preparing a light artillery caster that had been loaned for the demonstration.

Rinn eyed their targets. An array of “ballstics gel” blocks, a few steel plates, and various human and captured elven armor replaced their paper targets.

“Shooters standby. Fire!” Rinn sparked his stave and channeled spells down range in a steady rhythm. An extended barrage of spell bursts flew down range as the other artificers spat their own spellfire. Rinn fired standard shardbursts, demonstrating their effectiveness and penetration, but the whole spectrum of elements was represented. Flames roiled, electricity crackled, and ice burst across the field.

“Cease fire! Cease fire!” the RSO called as the crackle of the last shot died away. Several Marines broke out into cheers and applause.

“Dude, that was fucking awesome!It was like watching an episode of Star Wars!”

“Or a Marvel movie!”

“Pew-pew! Pew-pew!”

Rinn smiled at the praise, and considered giving a bow. He glanced at the nobles. Perhaps grandstanding would not be terribly appropriate at this moment.

Instead, he stepped aside as a few Marines went down-range to collect the targets and measure their effectiveness. Curious about the results of the test, and eager to help, he followed them.

Hmm … Their bullets penetrate armor better than even a shardburst at standard power … But we can vary the power of our spells. He flicked an ear. Though they also have bigger bullets, and Jabs said they have a new, more powerful rifle in development …

One of the Marines whistled. “Dude, these firebolts don’t penetrate armor very well, but they’ll cook you good if you’re not protected …”

“And even if you are,” Another Marine said, pointing out the charring splashed across one of the targets.

“They melt through anything that isn’t ceramic or metal well enough,” said a third Marine.

“This ice one doesn’t penetrate for shit,” the first Marine said. “But where it does hit is frozen fucking solid.” He snapped a few pictures. “Bet the eggheads are gonna want to do a fuckwack of lab testing with all this shit, too.”

“Naw, man, just throw on a lab coat and take a sample of something, it’ll all be good.”

“Yeah, I measured this hole twice, we’re talking precision data here.”

“Heh. I measured your mom’s hole twice.”

“Ohhhh! Fuck you.”

Rinn shook his head, his ears waggling in amused exasperation as he helped haul the last of their targets off the range.

“Y’all are fucking pigs,” another female Marine said, intercepting the back-and-forth about precision hole measurement as she helped haul more targets onto the range. She had dark, chocolate-colored skin, and her hair was knotted in rows along her skull. Rinn quirked an ear at her, not sure which part of the battalion she belonged to. It is amazing how diverse these humans can look despite having no fur, horns, or tail, he thought, shaking his head as he walked back up range. And with such uniformly flat faces.

“Alright, lock it up,” Valdez said, intervening as insults of “Pogue” and “I’ll pogue beat yo fuckin’ ass!” were exchanged. “We don’t have all fucking day.”

“Actually, we do …” Bradford muttered as he joined her, though she was careful not to say it loud enough for Valdez to hear. He flicked an ear and gave her a slight smile as they sat back to watch Tyetyeh give his show.

“Alright,” the straight-horned keshmin said with his fake-deep voice, stepping up to the firing line. “I’ll show you guys how a realman hits things.”

Bradford rolled her eyes, and rolled them again when he flicked an ear at her and every other woman in view. “How does anyone fall for that shit?”

Rinn just shrugged.

On the command to fire, Tyetyeh rolled his shoulders, twisting his head from side-to-side, then brought his stave up. A heavy shardburst snapped out, punching through three steel plates and into the dirt embankment behind them. Another heavy shardburst snapped out, and an armor stand fell over, a gaping hole punched in the front of the human body armor. A third shot punched clean through a set of elven plate.

Tyetyeh fed a new mana crystal into his stave, and a series of fireballs erupted across the range.

Another mana crystal, and a chain of electricity arced between another set of targets.

Tyetyeh fed another mana crystal into his stave, and took aim at his final target. Another bolt snapped out, crackling with energy, and the log his target sat on vanished in a bright ball of fire. The concussion knocked him on his tail, and punched Rinn’s chest like a bucking queshi.

Rinn blinked as he staggered back, his ears ringing despite his earmuffs.

Tyetyeh sat on his tail, his ears swept back in shock, staring at the small crater his artifice had dug as bits of dirt and debris rained down. “Oops …” he squeaked, then cleared his throat, quickly throwing on his affected voice. “I mean, uhh, I uh … Th-that wasn’t expected …”

“What did you do?!” Anyo demanded, his ears up in angered alarm.

“Well, uh,” Tyetyeh scratched at an ear. “I was playing with some spell structs that Ahyat had showed me, and I slapped them onto a concussion artifice that I’ve been tinkering with, and, well …” He checked his stave. “It ended up draining the whole mana crystal …”

Anyo glared at Rinn.

How can he think this is my fault?

The Earl opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Yeshai stepped forward. “While that was certainly an impressive feat, Second Artificer, this is probably not the best time to experiment with new artifice structures.”

“As you say, your grace …” Tyetyeh muttered, dipping his head low, his ears flat against his skull as he accepted the chastisement.

“At least warn us next time, before you fucking damn near blow up my range,” Valdez said.

Tyetyeh nodded, seeming to shrink in on himself a little.

“Can you do something like that?” Bradford asked, leaning in to whisper.

“Not easily,” he whispered back. “Though that shouldn’t have used up an entire mana crystal of that size …” he shook his head. “He’s still bleeding a lot of mana.” He frowned. “Even so, there aren’t many artificers who can outperform a small artillery piece with just a stave.”

Bradford raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment.

Leaving a few Marines to clean up the targets from Tyetyeh’s demonstration, they shifted back over to the 200 “meter” range. Anyo and Yenyed were making a few final preparations with their light artillery piece.

The spell caster resembled a larger, fatter stave, mounted to a two-wheeled carriage frame. Unlike a stave, it had four prongs instead of two, longer and arranged in a cross pattern. Three bands of gold wire connected the prongs, making them resemble a diamond-shaped barrel, and a large crystal was embedded in the main body, centered between the roots of the four prongs. Gold and platinum wire and bands wove down the length of the main body, a cylinder of carved and fitted wood, to the mana crystal chamber near the rear. The end was capped with a fitment where the spellframes would be slotted in, depending on the type of artifice being projected.

Rinn only half-listened to Anyo’s condescending, layman’s description of the light artillery piece. He was not an artilleryman, but general artificer training included base concepts and enough foundation that he could help operate one if needed. He watched Yenyed attach the spell frame and load a mana crystal from a crate he wished they had on any battlefield. With good spellframes, and proficient handlers, they could have fed that battery continuously for a week straight with what’s in that box … A month or better of actual combat.

Completing the final checks of his weapon, Yenyed stood at attention to one side of the breech. “Battery ready!”

Anyo nodded, and took his place behind the caster. He sighted on a target one hundred yards away, then sparked the battery. With a slight buck and a deep whine, a heavy shardburst flashed downrange. With a sound like a ringing gong, it punched through the first of multiple steel plates arranged in a line, though it failed to penetrate the second. The shardbolt disintegrated as it lost cohesion, flashing apart in a small explosion of magical energy.

The Earl stepped back as Yenyed ran the caster through its post-fire and pre-fire checks, then stood clear and reported ready. Anyo stepped forward again and sparked the battery. It bucked and whined, and another heavy shard punched a hole through the steel plate. Twice more, and Anyo stepped away as Yenyed removed the spellframe, decharged the connection point, and attached a new frame. The fourth shot had penetrated the second plate to burst upon the third.

“Heavier batteries are less flexible in the artifices they can project,” Anyo said. “The power of their shot requires heavier, simpler construction, limiting the variety of spell structs that they can store and channel. The residual charge also wipes or corrupts the structures stored on any spellframe. A light battery such as this must have the residual mana charge wiped every few shots, or it will corrupt the spellframe. More powerful batteries, or those that are poorly built or maintained, must be wiped with every shot. Even the most well-built heavy batteries will corrupt the spellframe with each shot, so they use single-use frames.”

“Battery ready!”

“This next set is a light shardblast,” Anyo said. “Most of our heavy batteries are built to fire both shardburst and shardblast. Only our heaviest batteries can only fire one or the other.” He readied himself behind the battery and sparked it. The caster bucked with a subtly different whine, and the fatter bolt punched into the ground. It heaved up a geyser of dirt, digging a small crater as a cluster of smaller, needle-like shards sprayed up from the center.

Yenyed checked the caster again, and the next shot burst in mid-air between a group of targets, peppering them with smaller shards.

Anyo stepped back, and Yenyed began the process of swapping the spellframe again.

“Yenyed is a battery captain,” Rinn said, leaning in to mutter to Bradford. “He has to know and be able to do everything he is doing, but none of it requires an artificer. Only sparking the battery does.” He nodded at the frames. “He’s also using full frames, that even the barest artificer can spark. He and Lord Anyo both can use partial frames, forming the rest on the fly. They’re easier to set, and more durable.”

“Is he being lazy, or underselling?” she whispered back.

He frowned. “I don’t …” He paused, reflecting on the limited selection of artifices Anyo had demonstrated, and his trouble with timing. He quirked an ear. “Maybe neither …” He flicked an ear at the Earl when she raised a questioning eyebrow. “I’d have to look at his stave to be sure, but he might only be a sparker, barely able to project anything …”

“But he’s thrown out some pretty impressive spells, hasn’t he?” She narrowed her eyes, her nose scrunching just a little.

“Nothing that couldn’t be done with spellframes built into his stave. It’s not cheap to do that, especially with something that lasts, but …”

“He’s an earl, and can afford it.” She nodded, and eyed Anyo as he settled behind the battery to demonstrate a few fireblasts. “Does that have any significance for anything?”

Rinn shook his head. “Only for his vanity. It does explain why he’s in artillery, though, and not something a bit more glory-heavy.”

She nodded, then tilted her head. “If you can make spellframes that throw out spells like that for just a ‘sparker,’ if we could develop a mechanism that lets someone without magic ‘spark’ a spellframe, we could make a spell gun we could use.”

“They already exist,” he said after a series of fireballs blossomed across the range. “Naval artillery batteries have them, so any of the crew can spark them. They are incredibly complex and expensive to make, though, and cost more than the batteries themselves.”

“Huh …” She raised both eyebrows. “We would probably pay a lot to get our hands on a couple of those …”

He nodded and flicked an ear at her. “We would probably ask for a lot to give any up. Magic is the one advantage we have, our single point of leverage. It would be foolish to give it up lightly.” He flicked an ear at Anyo. “He would have nothing to do with any of you.”

“Is his a popular opinion?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Rinn snorted with a flippant flick of his tail. “Fortunately for all of us, he does not decide policy or strategy.” Thunder boomed across the range as the caster spat out a volley of lightning bolts.

“Good, cause we’re awesome!” She winked at him, then sighed. “Well, most people are pretty decent, anyway.” She frowned. “I’ve no doubt there are plenty of Americans who don’t want anything to do with you, either.”

“Is theirs a popular opinion?” he asked, quirking an ear at her.

She shrugged. “I don’t really know, but fortunately for us, they’re not the ones making decisions on our side.”

He snorted. “Maybe we should lock them in a room together. They could be friends.”

“Ha!” She grinned. “Bonding over how much they hate each other!”

They shared a smile until a sharp explosion thumped their chests. Bradford looked at the range, and the small column of dust billowing up.

“Concussive shot,” he said, glancing down range. “Limited area effect, unless you can hit something that’ll turn into shrapnel, and doesn’t penetrate well, but it’s great for knocking things down.”

“It thumps like C4,” she said as another boom shook his lungs. “Not much C4, but it’s got the concussion of high-explosives.” She tilted her head. “Could you slap one of them onto the back of a shardburst?”

“Not easily,” he frowned, cocking his ears. “I know what you’re thinking, and it technically can be done, but I’m not aware of any artifice structure that combines the two with any kind of practical efficiency.”

She frowned. “It might be something worth playing with. We’ve got armor-piercing high explosive shells that punch into the target and then blow up. It does a fuckwack more damage that way.”

He nodded. “You have a lot more armor to deal with than we do.” He flicked his ears side-to-side. “The elves rely a lot on their shields, and anything that puts a hole in their armor will generally also put a fatal hole in them.”

She nodded as the final concussion thumped their chests.

Anyo stepped back while Yenyed cleared the battery, but before he could speak, another Marine shouted “ATTENTION ON DECK!”

Rinn and Bradford both snapped to attention with the rest of the Marines as an officer with four stars on his chest strolled up. “As you were,” he said, his whole posture screaming unrivaled authority.

“That’s General Langstrom,” Bradford whispered. “He’s the commanding officer for all U.S. forces on Gahla.”

“Impressive display, Knight Captain,” he said. “I’d hate to be on the receiving end of your artillery.”

“As you say, my lord,” Anyo said, dipping his head in a stiff bow.

“Just sir is fine, Knight Captain,” Langstrom said, waving his hand. “I grew up on a farm in Iowa, not any kind of royal palace.”

Anyo dipped his head again, but said nothing.

“How does your artillery range compare to the elves?” Langstrom asked.

“It depends on the battery, sir,” Anyo said. “Some can out-range the elves, particularly our heavy batteries, but most field pieces are out-ranged by their mage towers.”

“You have more ‘conventional’ artillery, trebuchets and ballistae, do you not?”

“We do, sir, but I am not an expert on those batteries.”

“We didn’t bring any,” Yeshai said. “Your indirect artillery is vastly superior to ours. We didn’t see much point in demonstrating any.”

Langstrom nodded. “We haven’t used trebuchets and catapults in centuries. Still, your shells are charged with magic, are they not?”

“They are,” Yeshai said. “Their range is limited, and the artifices are a bit different, but they can be nearly as powerful as our heavy casters, even without considering the kinetic impact.”

“Is this something that could be applied to our artillery?”

Yeshai glanced at the two artillerymen.

“Yes, m’l- sir,” Yenyed said, keeping his head low. “From what I have seen of your weapons, it should be possible.”

“Good. We’ll have to look into that, then,” he glanced at his watch. “Gentlemen, I’d love to stay for the rest of the demonstration, but I don’t have the time.” He looked at the Marines and artificers. “Keep up the good work! We’ve thrown the keeblers on the backfoot, but the war is far from over yet. I’ve no doubt that we’ll need to rely on each other to see it to the end. You’ve an opportunity like few before you, to set the precedent for how we work together. Do it right. Oorah?”

“Oorah!” the Marines shouted back.

“Outstanding! Keep up the good work!”

“Attention on deck!” Valdez called, saluting the General.

“Carry on,” he said, returning the salute before turning and walking away, his retinue falling in behind.

“And on that note,” Valdez said. “Clean this mess up so we can break for lunch.”

***

After lunch found Rinn and Anyo hunkered down in the dugouts on the grenade range, projecting shields over nearby targets. Rinn waited his turn while Yeshai took potshots at Anyo’s shield. The Earl could project a decent screen, but his skill was limited, as was his reaction time. Yeshai chose him to demonstrate alongside Rinn to show what the base level shields an artificer could project could do, and comparing it to what a skilled shield artificer could do.

And, of course, Lord Anyo is not happy about being selected for that comparison.Rinn suppressed a smirk.

The Duke’s last shot splashed against Anyo’s shield. He dropped it, and gave a dismissive wave at Rinn, signaling his turn.

Lifting his stave, he walked through the same demonstration that Anyo gave, this time with Ayan and Sayiash providing the offensives. Once the basic set was done, they worked him through increasingly difficult drills, testing his reaction time to snap up a shield, and straining his ability to protect multiple targets from different angles. He managed to protect the targets against most of the attacks, it was only the last two reaction tests to protect two targets from opposite directions that he failed to deflect.

“Impressive work, Ahyat,” Yeshai said, giving him a nod of respect as he and Anyo returned from downrange. “I’d like to take a look at your shield designs after the day is over, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s more technique than design, your grace,” flicking his ears back in surprise, “But I would be happy to share what I know.”

“Excellent.” Yeshai flicked his ears up. “I, of course, would be happy to share some artifice designs of my own. I’m particularly proud of my enhancement spellwork.” He flicked an ear at the ONI officers. “For now, though, the humans would like to see how well your shields work against their weapons. Care to give it a go?”

“Of course, your grace,” he said, dipping his head with a respectful bow of his ears, before heading back down range. He saw Bradford stepping up to the firing line along with a few other Marines. He flicked an ear at her, and she gave him a smile and a wink.

Settling into position, he heard the command and put up a shield over the target. There was a rattle of gunfire as several rounds slapped into the shield, stopped dead. They went through a few more drills, testing different calibers, until Rinn decided to angle his shield for greater efficiency.

The next salvo of rounds went whirring off behind him as they deflected off the shield.

“CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!” the Range Master shouted, immediately terminating the demonstration. He eyed the berm that served as a backstop. “I think we get the idea,” he said. “Let’s call it good on shields until we can figure out how to not ricochet rounds out of my range.”

Rinn gave a sheepish flick of his ears while Yeshai nodded. “Point taken, Gunnery Sergeant. Let us move on to armor enhancements.”

They shifted to one of the fixed firing ranges, where several sets of keshmin armor and gambeson had already been set up. Ayan and Sayiash moved up to the firing line and projected artifices onto the armor as Tyehtyeh, Yenyed, and a few Marines took turns taking shots at them.

“We lack the spellwork to make lasting enchantments to armor and weapons like the elves do,” Yeshai said, in a break while the Marines switched from pistols to rifles. “But our active enhancements can provide similar effect, allowing even gambeson to have the protection of plate mail.” He paused as the first rifle volley was sent down range. “Of course, this comes at the cost of active mana usage, and requires our artificers to reduce their offensive output accordingly, if not focus all of their efforts on it.”

He had to shout at the end to be heard over the next volley of rounds, and waited for the Marines to finish before he continued. “Our standard practice is to employ shields and active enhancements for limited durations, cycling them on and off as our forces engage.”

Major Volchok, the leading ONI officer, nodded. “It sounds like you’ve adapted your tactics well to dealing with a limited mana supply compared to the elves.”

“We do what we must,” Yeshai said, as they stepped forward to examine the results of the demonstration. With active enhancements, the gambeson was made proof against the Marines’ handgun rounds and most of the standard spell shards sent their way, though not the Marine rifles, nor Tyehtyeh’s shots. The plate and chainmail fared better, but still wasn’t proof against the heavy rifle one of the Marines had fired.

Yeshai eyed the hole punched in the chest plate by the heavy rifle. Setting the armor plate down, he turned. “Do we have another one available?”

“We do, sir,” a Marine Sergeant said, waving a private towards a nearby Humvee. Anyo glared at him with frozen ears, but said nothing. “The Royal Host supplied us with plenty of samples when we asked, mostly intact.” He frowned. “They’ve got a lot of extras right now.”

Yeshai nodded, and silence fell as they waited for the private to return. He brought three chest plates. Two were intact, one had a rent in the side with melted edges, the distinctive hallmark of a gemblade.

After a brief glance at the damage, they all pointedly ignored it, and the private was sent down range to set them up.

Once he was clear, Yeshai cast his own enhancements, and flicked his tail at the Range Master. The Marine with the heavy rifle loaded, took aim, and on command put three rounds down range. Even from the firing line, it was clear they hadn’t penetrated. Setting the rifle down, he picked up another, larger rifle with a large tube on top of it. He shoved a box with much more bulky rounds into it, and manually cycled the action. Taking aim with the help of a bipod, he fired. The target fell over. He fired at the third target, also knocking it over.

The ONI officers took notes as the armor plates were brought back to the firing line, and they all took turns examining the damage.

“Looks like you can enhance plate mail to protect against 7.62, but not against .338 Lapua,” Major Volchok said. The first plate barely had a scratch, but the second had a hole punched through. The third had technically stopped the bullet, but it had cracked, and had a two-inch dent where the bullet struck. He tapped the back side of the dimpled armor. “That much deformation would still kill a man.” He raised an eyebrow. “How well do your enhancements work on our armor?”

The keshmin exchanged glances. “We can certainly give it a shot.”

Thirty minutes and several volleys later, they were all suitably impressed. “I still wouldn’t want to get hit by that fifty-cal round … Even spread across the entire plate, it’d still probably break all your ribs …” Volchok flexed the vest that took the hit in question, folding it near in half. The shattered remains of the plate inside crinkled like a thousand shards of sand and broken glass. “And your plate’s useless even if you do survive it, but damn …”

He shook his head, setting the vest back down. “Is there anything else you wanted to demonstrate?”

Yeshai shook his head. “No, Major, that was the last we had planned.”

Volchok nodded. “We’d all like to know more about how much energy those mana crystals can store, but that’s something for the egg heads to play around with, not us today.” He held out a hand to the Duke. “Thanks for your time, sir, you’ve all given us a lot to think about, and a lot of new ideas for how we can integrate and bolster each other’s forces.”

“It was a pleasure, Major,” he said, taking the offered hand in the keshmin way. “I haven’t had the ability to play with spellwork like this in ages.”

“Glad we could oblige, sir,” Volchok smiled. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a report to right. Sir.” He saluted in the human way.

“Of course, Major,” Yeshai said, returning it with a keshmin bow. Dropping his salute, the Major turned and departed with the rest of the ONI officers.

“That was some impressive enhancement work, Tyehtyeh,” Rinn said as they all departed the range. “You’re still bleeding a lot of mana, though; I could see it leaking all over the place.”

“Yeah, well, you know … Sometimes you just have to block force with force,” he said, slamming a fist into his palm. “But, uh …” he lowered his hands as his ears fidgeted, “If you have some better spellstructs, I’d uh … I’d be interested in seeing them.”

Rinn glanced at his human watch. “It’s almost dinner time, and the Duke wants to see my shield techniques after we eat. I’ll find you after that, and I can show you some of what I was taught at university.”

Tyehtyeh’s ears perked up and he smiled. “Excellent! I’ll see you then!” He thumped Rinn on the back almost as hard as a human would, and sauntered off to find chow with his assigned company.

With a sigh, Rinn shook his head. I’m probably going to regret this …

*****

“What the fuck is this shit?!” Bradford asked as they walked back into the barracks, waving at a stack of boxes and crates that had taken up a whole corner and more of their platoon’s bunk room.

“We’ve been dual-purposed,” Dubois said, standing up from his rack. “Supplies are pouring in faster than they can throw up buildings to store them, so they’re storing them here.”

Bradford rolled her eyes, then paused mid-sigh. “Wait, they decided to store a bunch of extra supplies in a barracks filled with Marines … Are they stupid?”

“Nope,” Dubois shook his head. “It ain’t nothing good or worth taking. We already checked. It’s mostly shitty blankets, extra uniforms, TP, giant rolls of rubber matting for fuck knows what, and a bunch of other stupid shit I don’t even know why they sent.”

“Dude, nobody knows what they’re sending,” Edison chimed in from his rack. “They just found a hole to send shit to, and clicked ‘send all the things.’ Supply’s the biggest clusterfuck of all time right now.”

Bradford shook her head, looking around at the sparsely-populated barracks. “Ain’t that the truth … Hey, where’s the rest of the platoon?”

“First Squad got pulled out on some exercise or patrol duty, and Staff Sergeant snagged up most of our squad that was hanging around not engaged in other tasking to help out, so it’s just me, Edison, and Kawalski right now.” Bradford raised an eyebrow, glancing at the lanky Marine’s empty rack, and he jerked a thumb at the stack of crates and boxes. “Kawalski made a fort.”

“Of course, he did …” Bradford rolled her eyes, then glared at Rinn when he chuckled. “Shut up, or I’ll put you in charge.”

“Fuck no,” Rinn laughed, flicking his tail at her as he walked to his rack and began pulling off his boots.

Deciding that he had the right idea, she trudged over to her own rack and followed suite. It had been a long day, made even longer by the hour-and-a-half of admin she got pulled into after chow, and the two hours of teach-me-magic-like-I’m-a-horny-four-year-old she sat through when she tracked Rinn down afterward. Guys like Tyehtyeh make me want to hate all men … She sighed, walking into the head with a clean change of underclothes.

Dubois had killed half the lights in the room by the time she came back out, and she was just laying down when the door flew open and Gomez stomped in. “Gentlemen! I have returned!”

“Gomez!” Kawalski called from his secret corner. “I finished the fort!”

“Oh, sweet! Lemme see!”

“Dude, this is awesome! It’s so fucking comfortable! Come cuddle! Come cuddle!” Kawalski said as the door swung open and more Marines filed in.

Bradford rolled her eyes as she watched Gomez crawl into the “secret fort.” “Oh, this is nice.”

She heard a pack slam down, and Kimber piled in to start wrestling, to several objections from Kawalski and Gomez. Elder walked around to the other side of the pile, and climbed in from the other direction, eliciting even more shouts and objections.

“He touched my dick! He touched my dick!”

“Ah! My asshole!”

Girlish squeals and laughter echoed through the room.

“I can’t run away! I can’t run away!”

“Agh! He’s giving me a titty twister!”

“Hey! Heyhey! No biting! NO BITING!”

Bradford sighed, rolling over. Fucking children … “Hey,” she shouted, “Rape each other quietly, some of us are trying to sleep!”

“Yes, mooom!” several Marines chorused back, followed immediately by, “Ah, fuck! NOT THAT HOLE!”

***

“I understand that they have incredible weapons and machines,” Sayiash said, “But people are not machines. The health of a living organism is a function of its life essence, and a proper balance of the humors. You can’t balance the humors with machines, and without magic, they have no way to engage with the life essence.” He shook his head. “They might have some novel ways of controlling the humors, but I do not for a minute believe that they can have better healing practices than us.”

Bradford glanced at the rest of the squad. Half of them were already asleep in their chairs. The other half were stifling snickers at the keshmin noble’s quiet rant. She raised an eyebrow at Rinn, but he studiously gave no more response than a slight twitch of his ear.

The door opened and a Navy Corpsman walked in. “Good morning, everyone! I’m HM1 Ramirez. I’ll be going over basic First Aid training with you today.” Bradford made a point of kicking the chairs of every sleeping Marine she could reach. We’re all due for our first aid refresher, and this kills two birds with one stone. I don’t want to have to sit through this all over again.

Once again, the powerpoint came on, and Ramirez started walking through basic first aid principles, practices, and combat triage. Bradford noticed Sayiash nodding along through most of it, but his ears flicked with impatience or boredom, she wasn’t sure which. He did quirk an ear up when Ramirez stressed the importance of marking the time a tourniquet was applied.

“Remember, a tourniquet can be safely applied for up to two hours, though when the situation permits, the need for it should be re-evaluated before then. If a limb is severed, if at all possible, attempt to retrieve it. With modern medicine, a limb can successfully be re-attached as much as six to twelve hours later, depending on the limb and the circumstances.”

All of the keshmin except Rinn sat up straight at that, their ears alert. “What? That- How?!” Sayiash asked.

“Surgery,” Ramirez said. “Modern surgical techniques allow us to reattach bone and muscle, even nerve tissue. It’s a narrow time window, and depending on the cause of the amputation may require multiple additional surgeries to fully repair the damage. Even then, full control isn’t always a guarantee, but many cases see a full recovery.”

“It’s true!” Kawalski said. “My uncle zipped off three of his fingers with a table saw once. He threw them in his beer cooler, wrapped his hand with paper towels and duct tape, and went into the hospital with ‘em after he’d sobered up the next morning. Docs stuck ‘em back on and they worked just fine, until he mashed ‘em in a wood splitter a couple years later.”

Everyone gave Kawalski a sidelong glance that he just shrugged off.

Sayiash shook his head, his ears cocked in disbelief. “I have heard of rare, miracle cases of a limb being severed in the presence of a powerful healer, who was able to immediately place it back on and apply extensive healing artifices, but even then, it’s no guarantee. This … How can this be possible?”

“It requires microsurgery with specialized equipment, which isn’t easy, but if the amputee can get to a hospital or medical facility in time, the amputate can usually be saved.”

“But … How? Do you just sew it back on?”

“Well …” Ramirez shrugged. “Yes.”

Sayiash’s eyes went wide as his ears swept flat against his head in horror.

“If you can wait through the remainder of the battlefield medicine training, my lesson plan covers some subjects that might help you better understand the process.”

Sayiash only nodded, his ears still flat against his head, as he stared past the presentation.

Bradford glanced at the other Marines, who all shrugged or chuckled. It was the most entertaining first aid training they’d had so far, and they hadn’t even brought out the CPR dummies for people to do awkward things with.

“You people are crazy,” Rinn said, leaning in to whisper in Bradford’s ear.

“You people?” she whispered back, her mock outrage bellied by a grin she couldn’t quite repress.

He rolled his eyes, giving her a dismissive flick of his ear.

The lecture moved on to other types of basic first aid, and specific wound treatment. Sayiash broke out of his reverie when Ramirez went over the hazards of sucking chest wounds, and their proper first aid. His ears quirked up, and he started to take more interest.

Finally, Ramirez moved into basic anatomy and vital organ function. The anatomy lesson, which included both male and female comparisons, was more detailed than the keshmin were comfortable with, though Bradford had to roll her eyes at a few ribald comments from her own Marines. And, of course, Tyehtyeh. How has he not had the shit slapped out of him by now?

“Now, as I said, this is just a basic overview of human organs, their functions, and first aid treatment. There are a number of smaller or less distinct organs I haven’t even covered, but it should give you a basic understanding. I know there are going to be a number of differences between human and keshmin anatomy, and understanding those differences will be vital to being able to provide effective first aid, especially with the kind of injuries we see on the battlefield.” He waved a hand at Sayiash and the other artificers. “I understand you’re probably not experts on this subject, but any insight you can provide, even just basic organ description and placement, can make a huge difference.”

The other nobles exchanged glances, but Sayiash ignored them. He was leaning forward, his attention fixed on the anatomy diagrams. “The level of detail you have here is amazing.” He shook his head. “The level of focus and direction a healing artificer could employ with such knowledge as you describe …” He shook his head. “And what of your humors?” he flipped a hand at Ramirez. “I know yours must be different than ours, but if you understand this much about how a person works, surely you must know much about controlling the humors and bringing them back into balance.”

The corpsman started to laugh, and quickly turned it into a cough. “Uh-hghm.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, we haven’t followed that theory in … two or three hundred years, at least. It has nothing to do with real medicine or biology.”

Sayiash pushed himself to his feet, leaning on the table in front of him. “I’ll have you know that we have done several studies, documenting the effects of the humors on the body, and their proper balancing and management! Proper knowledge and treatment of the humors is an absolutely vital part of modern medicine!”

All of the Marines were completely awake and staring in rapt attention.

“Yeah, in the Dark Ages!” Ramirez snapped back. “If you have no real knowledge or understanding of biology or physiology!” The keshmin noble’s ears flared up in outrage, but Ramirez held up his hand. “You know what? No. I’m not having this argument. This thing’s connected to the internet!” He pointed at the laptop connected to the overhead projector. “I’ll just pull up a video that’ll give you a crash course in the science we’ve done on this.”

The powerpoint was minimized, and with a few clicks and keystrokes, Ramirez had brought up YouTube. Sayiash sat down, and all of the keshmin leaned forward to watch the magic of human computer technology.

Forty-five minutes and several basic biology videos later, and Ramirez called it a halt with the YouTubes. The Marines had all fallen asleep, and some of the keshmin had zoned out, but Sayiash broke from his rapt attention as Ramirez closed the last video, and sat back in mild shock. “This … Challenges everything we know …” He shook his head. “No, this … this … We know nothing …”

“Lord Artificer,” Bradford spoke up. “It wasn’t that long ago that we knew as much as you did.” She nodded at Rinn. “From what Second Artificer Ahyat has told me about the university he attended, you’re about where we were two or three hundred years or ago, for the most part. If not for the war, it sounds like you were on the verge of a renaissance, a golden age of learning and advancement. We know a lot, sure, but it wasn’t that long ago that we didn’t know any more than you do, and we’re willing to share a lot of that knowledge.”

Sayiash waggled his ears. “Amazing … This could revolutionize so much …” He sat up again, looking at Ramirez. “Please, tell me more about your medicine.”

“Well, I can’t teach you everything. Our doctors spend years at college to earn their medical degrees, and still only know a fraction of it all, but I can finish the first aid lesson.” He glanced at the sleeping Marines, and gave Bradford a meaningful glare.

She kicked Edison’s chair.

“The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell!” he shouted, snapping awake. Bradford snorted a laugh, and kicked a couple more chairs within reach. Soon, the rest of the squad was roused from their nap, and the lesson continued.

*****

Lunch was another keshmin-only meal. Part of their indoctrination briefing on the first day had made it clear that they would be given plenty of time to socialize amongst themselves, away from the humans, though with their tight schedule the times weren’t all consistent.

In practice, the nobles and commoners segregated themselves after that first dinner, and while Rinn enjoyed catching up with Yenyed, Tyehtyeh’s quality of conversation left much to be desired.

After lunch, they hit the “gym” as the humans called it. It was a new facility, special-built for the artificer integration, though the entire battalion was taking advantage of it when it was not being used for that purpose. Today, conveniently, was Echo Company’s day at the gym, and after returning for a quick change at the barracks, he and Second Squad joined the other artificers at the gym.

Walking inside, they found an open room with a modest collection of bizarre machines, and another wide-open space with stacks of foam mats. The place smelled of human sweat and a chemical scent he encountered at the human medical facilities. Air circulation was not great, but it was made bearable by great, spinning fans that pushed air through the building.

“This is going to be another demonstration of human physical superiority, isn’t it?” Anyo asked, his ears swept low.

“Eh, it’s more a test of your physical capabilities,” Lieutenant Meyers said, walking in with the rest of First Platoon. “Even with all our technology, war still comes down to grunts doing hard work on the ground. We know what we can do in the field, we need to know what you can do.”

Anyo flicked his ears, but said nothing in response as they filed in.

Rinn found himself beside Bradford again, and realized she was looking entirely too excited again. “What’s tweaked your tail?” he asked, giving her a sidelong glance.

“Dude, after we run through some basic drills and strength tests with you guys, it’s free PT! I haven’t gotten a good lift in in ages!”

He quirked an ear at her. “Are all humans this excited about physical labor?”

“Nah, just the gym rats,” she said. “And I’m not really even a good gym rat, but it takes a lot of work to maintain these guns!” She flexed an arm at him. He rolled an ear at her. She grinned back. “Not like these fuckheads,” she waved her hand at the male Marines around her. “They pick something up and put it down once, and pack on the muscles. It’s a lot harder for us women to put on and maintain muscle mass. At least for humans. No idea about keshmin.”

Rinn shrugged, not really understanding what she was talking about, never mind how humans and keshmin compared on the subject. The call to fall in came as they stepped into the open area of the gym, and Rinn soon found himself doing familiar warm-up exercises.

An hour later, he was guzzling water from a bottle someone had handed to him. His arms and legs had the strength and consistency of over-cooked noodles, and he sat watching Bradford with increasingly wide-eyed amazement as she lay on a bench press, repeatedly lifting more weight than he had been able to lift once. And he had the best strength scores out of all the keshmin present!

Not that that’s saying much … he thought. None of the lords did much physical labor or melee training, and Tyehtyeh wasn’t much better, though he was better. Only Yenyed was any competition, and I have half a hand on him.

Bradford shoved the bar up and onto its rack with a decidedly un-ladylike grunt, and sat up. Guzzling water from her own bottle, she waved at Stephens, who was “spotting” for her, to put more weight on.

Tyehtyeh sat nearby, looking just as exhausted as Rinn felt, watching Bradford in open amazement. He figured the only reason Bradford tolerated it, other than just showing him up in general, was the fact that he had finally just shut up.

“Gawd, Jabs,” Edison said, moseying over with a towel over his shoulders. “That’s …” he glanced at the weights on the bar and the weights Stephens was adding. “A hundred forty?”

“Yep!”

“For reps?”

Yep!”

“Gawd, you’re such a fucking bro.”

“You jealous I can lift more than you, pencil-arms?”

“Ha, no. I do what I need to do to stay in regs, but I haven’t abandoned my nerd heritage.”

Bradford laughed as she lays back down and started another rep.

“Damn, Jabs, the mando shit’s done,” Davies said, joining the group. He had a towel around his shoulders, and his shirt was soaked, but the sweat on his face looked like it had already tried. “You don’t have to sacrifice your social life twenty-four/seven for this shit.”

“What the fuck … is that … supposed to mean?” She grunted, throwing the bar back up on the rack. She sat up, waving at Stephens to up the weight.

“Just sayin’ … You’re putting all this work in, for like, no fucking reason. Makes everyone else look bad. If you weren’t non-stop go, you could have more of a social life.”

Bradford sat up to glare at him. “Do you know how many women made it through the infantry pipeline ahead of me?” She paused for an answer, but clearly didn’t expect one, and gave it herself when he looked at her cluelessly. “Twenty-Six. I have to bust my ass extra-hard every day just to prove that I deserve to be here, that I’m not just a diversity hire or making rank on my knees. If you, of all people, think I’m working too hard, I’m probably not working hard enough. Not that what you think is hard work is actually all that hard.”

She laid back down on the bench, grabbing the bar and heaving it down and back up, her face scrunched from anger as much as the physical effort.

“Yeah, well,” Davies spluttered, “It’s not like arms are what’ll help you, anyway; you’re better off doing squats.”

Bradford slammed the bar back up on the rack with a heavy clank. She sat up and glared at him, her face contorted in rage. “Go fuck yourself,” she snarled, before standing up and storming off.

“Not cool, brah, not cool.” Stephens shook his head at Davies as he pulled a disposable rag out of a plastic tub and started wiping down the bench and bar.

“You’re a dick, man,” Edison said.

“What?” Davies said. “Am I wrong?”

“Yeah, you are,” Edison said, and walked away.

Even Tyehtyeh gave Davies a sidelong glance, his ears swept back against his head.

As Edison walked past him, Rinn caught Kawalski’s eye. The lanky Marine had clearly seen the whole thing, and without words or ears, an understanding passed between them. A twitch of his eyes in Bradford’s direction sent Rinn following after her. He grabbed the water bottle she left by the bench, and stopped to refill it and grab a towel for her.

Outside, she was already out of sight, but her scent still lingered in the air enough for him to get a direction. Following at a slower pace, he found her at the PT track, which hadn’t really seen any further progress in construction. She was running around the plowed roadbed, doing laps.

Rinn found a reasonably comfortable spot that still had grass, and sat down to watch and wait for her to finish. They were on their own time until chow, and that wasn’t for more than an hour.

Bradford kept running for almost twenty minutes, doing several laps around the track, her face tight and her eyes distant. Rinn entertained himself by planning some basic artifice structures to teach Tyehtyeh while he waited for her to finish.

Eventually, as she rounded the corner back to where he was sitting, she slowed to a jog, and then a walk as she left the track. Gasping for breath, she flopped down on the grass beside him. “Hi.”

“You forgot this,” he said, offering her the water bottle, then the towel.

“You’re a goddamn hero,” she said, taking both and immediately sucking down several gulps of water. She sat up, and sprayed more water over her head to help cool herself off. “Thanks,” she said after another long drink.

“Any time,” he said, ending the minor projection artifice he was using to play with spell structs. He sat quietly as she started drying sweat and water off her face, looking over the barely-started construction site.

“Ughh …” Bradford groaned into her towel and flopped back on the grass. “He always spins me up, and I don’t know why.”

Rinn turned to look at her, both ears facing her, one quirked in query.

“I’ve been stuck with him since fucking bootcamp.” She sighed. “He was a shitbag in bootcamp. He was a shitbag in Infantry School, and he’s been nothing but a buddy-fucking shitbag here.” She clenched a fist and slammed it against the ground. “I shouldn’t fucking care what he says. But somehow, he knows exactly how to get under my skin.” He snorted. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even do it on purpose.”

Rinn tilted his head, watching her eyes, both ears still focused on her.

She glanced at him, then shook her head, staring up at the sky. “One of the other guys can make a joke, and I’ll laugh, it’ll be funny, just friends giving each other shit, and I’ll give it right back. But Davies? He can say the exact same thing,” she clenched her fist and her teeth, her whole body tensing, “And it’s like nails on a goddamn chalkboard.”

With another sigh, she relaxed again, waving a hand at the sky. “Part of me kinda feels bad about it, because he’s always been that way, and maybe he’s just got some social awkwardness or something going on and he just doesn’t know how to say things without adding some creep factor into it,” she shook her head. “But at the same time, I knowhe’s a fucking creep. I’ve overhead him making comments about me and other women in the battalion when he didn’t think I was around, and most of the time when he tries joking around like the rest of the guys, he doesn’t say it the same way.”

Bradford pushed herself up on her elbows, meeting his gaze. His right ear twitched as a helicopter rumbled overhead, but swung right back to face her. “Like just now, when I was lifting,” she jerked a thumb in the vague direction of the gym. “Edison came over and gave me shit, and I gave him shit right back! Just two friends ragging on each other. We both laughed. It was fun!” She shook her head. “Then Davies comes over, and tries doing it to, like he always does,” she added through her teeth, “because if one of the guys starts making jokes, if there’s an opening in the conversation, he’ll butt in and try to make the same joke himself.” She clenched a fist for a moment, then shook it away.

Rinn glanced at her fist, then back to her eyes, shifting so he didn’t have to twist quite so much to look at her.

“But it’s almost never friendly shit-talking, there’s always something in it that puts you down, or puffs himself up, or some not-so-subtle inuendo …” She flopped back on the grass. “Ugh. He acts like I’m busting my ass for no fucking reason. Like, he doesn’t fucking get it.” She threw her arms into the air. “Fuck! Even big, dumb, fucking Kawalski gets it! Gets how much harder I have to bust my ass, how much extra shit I have to put up with.” She laughed. “Honestly, he acts a lot like my brothers sometimes, and he’ll never admit it, but I know he’s stamped down hard on some of the shit people’ve tried to give me since I got here.”

She dropped her arms back down. “Davies, though … He just doesn’t fucking get it. Well, one,” she waved a hand again, “He doesn’t understand working hard in the first place, never mind working hard for the Corps and to make a career, but beyond that, he doesn’t understand how much harder it is for me and other women in Infantry right now, how much extra shit we have to deal with just to prove that we deserve to be here, because we’re the first women that have been allowed in Infantry.” She brought both hands up to her head and scrubbed at her scalp. “Just breaking in in the first place has been a battle, justifying my right to be here, and fitting in with the rough-and-tumble culture surrounded by people who don’t understand that being friendly and goofing around doesn’t mean I’m flirting and want to fuck …” She blew out a heavy breath, massaging her temples with the heel of her palms. “And Davies is the only one in the whole goddamn squad who doesn’t fucking get it.”

She snorted again. “And we were almost fucking rid of him, too … After that stunt he pulled with Kawalski, everyone in the squad basically shut him out.” She glanced to the side, “Well, except Stephens, but it’s literally impossible for him to not be friends with everyone.” She shook her head. “But anyway! He got shut out by the whole squad; fuck, the whole platoon, the whole goddamn company knew what he did, and he didn’t like all the shit he was getting for it, so he tapped out on some bullshit medical excuse.” She sighed. “And then war were declared, and all bullshit medical excuses got canceled. And now he’s back,” she looked at Rinn. “And to be completely honest with you, I’m surprised that Kawalksi hasn’t beat the shit out of him yet.”

Rinn frowned. “What did he do?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t know at all!” She sat up, leaning forward to tell him the story. “Alright, so … You guys have something like NJP? Non-Judicial Punishment? Where the CO of a unit can hand out punishments to Marines for doing stupid shit and breaking the rules without sending them to full court martial?”

He nodded. “It’s pretty standard practice for a commander to sit in judgement over his men.”

“Right, so Kawalski’s been to NJP three times.” She held up three fingers, then switched to two. “The first two times, where his own fucking fault. Standard ‘Marine did stupid thing, got caught, sent to NJP’ type shit. Busted down in rank both times. I think the second time he did it on purpose to get busted down in rank, but, whatever. First two times, all him. He fucked up, went to NJP, took his licks, and moved on. The third one, however … Not so much.”

Scratching his snout, Rinn leaned in to listen.

“So, Kawalski was on duty, and got a call from one of his buddies in Second Platoon. It was a Saturday night, and they were out drinking, because, and they didn’t have a ride. So, Kawalski left post to go get them. Which would have been fine, he wasn’t on watch, and we’d much rather send someone with duty van to go pick your ass up than having someone get pulled over driving drunk, or worse.”

Rinn quirked an ear at her in confusion.

“Yeah, driving drunk’s illegal. Remember how Kawalski drove the van? Now imagine him doing it drunk.”

“Oh …” his ears swept back in horror at the thought. “We’d have all died …”

“Yup! Along with half of everyone else on the highway. And that’s why it’s illegal, and why we tell people to call if they need a ride, which is exactly what happened, and everything’s fine at this point.”

“Okay,” Rinn nodded. “What went wrong?”

“Well, for one, Kawalski didn’t actually tell anyone he was leaving, just hopped in a van and left. Technically not right, but playing the ‘in a hurry to make sure my buddies didn’t drive drunk’ card would’ve gotten him out of it with nothing more than a ‘Well, make sure you tell someone next time.’” She rolled her eyes. “The big problem, though, was that Kawalski’s buddies in Second Platoon, they decided that it was only two in the morning, and there was plenty of party time left in the night, so they hopped in one of their cars, and drove to another party they’d heard of. Made it there without wrecking or getting pulled over, and after an hour or so, Kawalski finally catches up with them and takes them home, and heads back to base.”

She sighed. “Unfortunately, Davies saw him out in town, at the bar the guys were originally at, and then later at the party they drove to. And he reported him.”

“But he didn’t do anything wrong …” Rinn frowned, his ears quirking.

“Not really, no, though he technically abandoned his post, but according to Davies, who was also drunk at the time, he saw Kawalski partying and hanging out with a group of girls, and having a drink or two, and did this all while using a government vehicle.”

“So, they took Davies word over Kawalski’s?”

“No,” Bradford shook his head. “Kawalski didn’t contest it, except for the drinking part. He was seen at a couple other bars before he found his buddies at the house party, because his buddies had stopped at those bars, too, along the way, so it wasn’t just Davies’ word that he was out mingling.”

“But why didn’t he contest it? It sounds like he was doing the right thing.”

“Because if he told the truth, then the command would have found out his buddy was driving drunk, and he and the three guys who rode along with him would have gone to NJP for it.” She sighed. “And Kawalski is very firmly of the belief that you don’t snitch on your buddies. So, he took the fall for them.” She leaned forward. “And here’s the kicker: Davies knew he was there, picking up his buddies, because he asked Kawalski what he was doing at the party while they were leaving!”

“Wow …” Rinn’s ears popped up, then swept back. “So, he just … Tried to get him in trouble on purpose?”

“Yeah. Kawaski and Davies have butted heads since Davies and I reported to the battalion, and Davies has this thing where he’ll vindictively enforce rules against other people, that he’ll try and skate out of himself.”

Rinn snorted. “Such a wonderful gentleman.”

“Yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He’s a real charmer. But watch out for him; he’s not one you want to turn your back on.”

“Understood,” he said with a nod.

Bradford sat back with a sigh. “Hey, so, uh … Sorry for ranting at you, there … I was just … Real spun up.”

“It’s fine,” Rinn shook his head, flicking it away with an ear. “Keshmin get worked up like that, too, and I know what it’s like to be in a world you’re not welcome in. Yagyhanae University is attended mostly by wealthy merchants and aristocrats, and I’m the son of a humble shopkeeper.” His tail curled and his ears swept back at a number of unpleasant memories. “I had to adapt to fit in, give no hint of my origins for them to pick up on, mimic their mindset, attitudes, manners of speech ...” He snorted, looking to the side. “Honestly, in many ways, the Royal Host was less brutal.” He looked back at Bradford. “It’s aggravating, even more so when you don’t have someone to share your frustrations with.”

“People can be real dicks, sometimes, can’t they?” she said, giving him a jaded look.

“Indeed.” He gave her a single, sharp nod.

“Still, thanks for listening,” she said. She leaned forward slightly, then reached a hand up, patting his shoulder. “It helped, and I really appreciate it.”

“Any time,” he said, flicking his ears up and giving her a smile. His ears flicked down with a mischievous twist. “Except when we’re in battle.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she said, turning her shoulder pat into a shove. He stuck his tongue out at her, and she laughed. “Ass.” He flicked an ear at her and grinned. “Anyway, chow?”

He looked down as his stomach rumbled, and they both laughed. “Uh, yes, chow,” he said, looking back up at her.

“Good.” She plucked at her PT uniform. “Shower first, then chow, actually, but definitely chow. I’m fucking starving.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he nodded. “Dibs on the shower first, though. I take longer to dry.”

“Oh, fine,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes and giving him a smile. She stood up, then had to reach down and help haul him to his feet because his worn-out muscles had all tightened up. A few minutes of stretching later, and they were walking back to the barracks.

***

Rinn and the other keshmin spent the next day in a series of tech seminars, mostly focusing on the battlefield technology they needed to be familiar with, but also highlighting general human technological capabilities, and a few industrial technologies in particular that America would be willing to trade. There were a few things that Rinn found interesting or enlightening, but it was mostly a rehash of what he had already seen or experienced.

Until, that is, he discovered memes. Specifically, when Bradford showed him her phone during a break, and he discovered that he himself had become a meme.

“Look at these, dude! You’re famous!” She leaned over, showing him her phone. He looked down, and his ears shot up. It was a picture of him from their day at the beach, with the empty bag of cheese puffs on his head. Words had been overlaid, and Bradford helpfully translated. “This one says ‘Take me to your leader!’” She snickered, swiping across her phone’s screen to show him another one. “’When you’re sent to invade Earth, but given a $2 budget!’ Ha!” She scrolled to another one. “’When you’re sent to invade Earth, but get drunk on cheese doodles instead.’ Hehe! ‘Attack of the furries!’” She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a snort as she swiped down and countless images flew past. “Oh god, there’s thousands of them …”

Rinn’s ears had shot up in alarm, and if he was honest, a little amusement, but as the images continued to flash across her phone’s screen, they slowly swept back in horror. “How many people have seen these …”

Bradford stopped swiping through her phone and looked up at him. “Everyone.” She looked him dead in the eye. “To seven and a half billion humans, you are now officially known as ‘The Cheese-Doodle Alien.’”

“Gods above and below …” he said, lowering his head into his hands.

“It’s okay, man,” she said, patting his shoulder. “Someone will post a picture of a corgi doing something absolutely fucking adorable next week, and they’ll forget all about you.”

He lifted his head enough to look at her. “You people are insane.” He put his head back in his hands. “And I have a headache now.”

Their training and integration continued through the weekend, with Saturday focusing on a demonstration of hand-to-hand combatives. Rinn, Tyehtyeh, and Yenyed all demonstrated standard pike combat techniques, and Rinn gave a basic rundown of pike formation principles. The nobles brought out their sidearms and ran a few sparring matches in which Anyo showed himself to be a particularly talented swordsman.

Then they shifted to hand-to-hand combat. The Marines gave a basic rundown of Marine Corps Martial Arts, including a number of demonstrations, and then the interspecies sparring began. Rinn and Yenyed held their own, both having plenty of experience tussling as boys, but couldn’t match the techniques nor raw power of the humans. Tyehtyeh also displayed a few tricks. He was easily overpowered by the Marines, but they called him scrappy.

The nobles, predictably, all gave embarrassingly poor showings, with the exception of Duke Yeshai. With a little deceit, he lured his opponent into a sense of overconfidence, and then very nearly pinned him with a series of surprisingly-skilled maneuvers.

Until the human managed to get his feet under him and just stood up with Yeshai clinging to his back, then fell backwards onto him.

The general assessment was that the keshmin had scraps, but were short on skills and training, and that regular infantry might fare better, though the humans retained a significant advantage in strength and mass.

***

Sunday, they finally got a day off, and were given “Holiday Routine.”

After breakfast, Bradford left with several Marines to make a run to the Exchange store that had been recently set up on the Air Force side of the base. Rinn returned to the barracks, settling down in a corner of the common room to play his new ocarina. A few other Marines from First Platoon were hanging out, but they were all fixated on playing games on big screens that had been set up. Rinn watched in fascination even as he played.

About mid-morning, Sayiash stepped into the common area. He glanced around, and after a moment’s hesitation, walked over to Rinn’s corner, sitting down next to him.

“M’lord,” Rinn said, sitting up and setting the ocarina in his lap. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Sayiash’s ears swiveled around, and he shrugged. “To be honest, Second Artificer, I am at a loss. I … have nothing to do. I have no campaign plans to manage, no supplies to organize, I don’t even have a game to play, and there is certainly no socializing to be had,” he shook his head. “Not in the sense that I am accustomed to.”

Rinn suppressed a smirk, his ears twitching in amusement. “You’re bored.”

“Incredibly.” Sayiash sighed, rolling his eyes.

“You could always ask to join their games,” Rinn said, flicking an ear at the Marines.

Sayiash snorted. “Please. I wouldn’t know my tail from a haversack.”

“You might be surprised,” Rinn said with a smile, bringing the ocarina to his lips and twiddling out a short tune.

“Have you tried them?”

Rinn snorted, giving him an impish ear flick. “Gods, no. I wouldn’t know my tail from a haversack.”

Sayiash chuckled, then glanced away with a sigh. “That still leaves me with nothing to do.”

“Well, what would you like to do?” Rinn asked. “Surely you have some hobby.”

“Mmm …” he muttered and leaned forward. “What I really would like to do is learn more about their medicine. It’s …” His ears twirled a loop. “Amazing what they are able to accomplish, all without any magic at all. Their knowledge of anatomy, and physiology, and the … things below them! It’s incredible!”

“It seems you have yourself a hobby, m’lord,” Rinn said, flicking an ear up at him.

“Well, yes,” Sayiash said, his ears lifting and his tail swinging up in pride. “I’m quite talented at healing magics, if I do say so myself. You could call it a hobby, I suppose, and I’ve always wanted to study the subject in great detail. And practice it.”

“Then what are you doing in the infantry? We’ve always a need for talented healers.”

The noble snorted. “My family wouldn’t have it. Not enough honor or glory in it, according to them.” He sighed. “At least I am able to provide some succor to my men when they are wounded.” He stared into space for a moment. “But after the war, I shall have earned enough honor that my family can’t say a word, and I shall be free to pursue this human medicine.” His ears perked up. “Just imagine what could be achieved! With their knowledge of medicine, and …” he looked down and waved his hands at himself. “The body, and how it all works, combined with a proper understanding of the healing arts … Just with the knowledge alone, a healer could do so much more! Never mind the tools that they claim to have, that let you see so much inside the body!”

“They do have them,” Rinn said. “I did magic inside one when I visited Earth last week. It saw everything inside me.”

“Incredible!” He swung both ears towards Rinn as he looked at him. “How did it work?”

Rinn shrugged. “Not a flash of candlelight.”

“Hm.” Sayiash nodded, looking back across the room. “Of course. There is so much they have that we can’t even comprehend … I wonder if we might ever be able to catch up …” He shrugged his ears. “Still, I would love to learn more.”

“Why don’t you go ask their healers?” Rinn asked, turning to him. “If you stay out of their way, I’m sure you’d find someone at their medical center to teach you, especially if you were to teach them the peculiars of our medicine and anatomy, in return.”

“That … That is a brilliant idea!” He shook his head. “Above and below, why didn’t I think of that!” He stood up. “I am going to go and do just that.” He turned, then paused. “Um … Do you happen to remember the way? Everything has been all jumbled up this past week.”

“It has been busy,” Rinn said, happily giving him directions, and with a nod of thanks Sayiash departed.

Rinn settled back in his seat and went back to playing his ocarina, having developed some new respect for the young noble

***

That evening, most of the entire Company was gathered up in the local lecture hall for “movie night,” as the projector had finally been installed.

Bradford sat down next to Rinn, along with a couple others from the squad, and handed him a bag of puffy, white … things that smelled of salt and oil.

“We won,” she declared, and the whole squad cheered.

“What did we win?” he asked, sniffing at the bag.

“They’re playing Mulan,” she grinned, snagging a couple of the puffs and popping them into her mouth, crunching loudly.

“Why are we playing Mulan?” asked one of the Marines in front of them. Rinn recognized him as being in Second Platoon.

“Because it’s tradition, Private,” Bradford snapped. “Now shut up and watch the goddamn movie.”

“Aye, Sergeant!” the young Marine said, spinning back around in his seat.

“What is this?” Rinn asked, holding up one of the poofs.

“It’s popcorn,” Edison said. “Traditional movie food.”

Rinn quirked an ear at it, then popped it in his mouth. He crunched it between his teeth as the salt and buttery oil flavor exploded across his tongue, and decided that he rather liked popcorn.

The door to their left opened, and Yeshai and the keshmin assigned to the other companies filed in. “Apparently, movie night’s a battalion thing, now …” Kimber muttered.

“We did take the only room with a working projector on our side of the base,” Dubois said.

“And it’s a good cultural exchange,” Edison added.

The nobles found seats next to the company’s officers, but Yenyed and Tyehtyeh made their way over to Rinn and found seating nearby.

The projector kicked on, the lights were dimmed, and the chatter that filled the room quieted to a low murmur. Bradford leaned over. “It’s an animated movie, so it’s not real, and they took some liberties with reality, and it was made more with kids in mind, but the story it’s based on is real. Mulan was a legendary figure in China, one of the oldest nations on Earth, who lived over a thousand years ago. There’s a live-action version that’s coming out soon. It’s definitely more for adults, and looks to be more of a cash grab than anything else. Even if it’s good, it’ll never replace the animated version. It’s a classic!”

Several different spectacles were displayed on the “screen,” which was just an empty, white wall, then an image of a rodent person was drawn, holding a ship’s wheel. Then another image, and another, and another, in increasingly rapid succession until it seemed as if the drawing itself was moving, accompanied by a crackling whistle. Rinn quirked an ear. It’s … It’s just a sophisticated zoetrope!

More drawings were shown, and much cleaner music began. Rinn tilted his head in interest, along with the rest of the keshmin, and popped another popcorn into his mouth.

As the movie progressed, Rinn heard Yenyed comment on how there were some vague similarities between Chinese culture and style, and the Khalim’Khali across the eastern ocean.

Rinn was particularly surprised when the Marines started singing along with the songs. They especially enjoyed the “we are men” song. Rinn was enthralled by the story, until half-way through he reached into his bag and found no more popcorn. Looking down in disappointment, he noticed that Bradford still had plenty of hers left.

He turned to her, giving her sad eyes and ears. She stopped mid-chew, glanced at him, looked away, then glanced back. “Goddamnit!” she whispered, and offered him some from her bag. His ears perked right back up and he grinned as he immediately grabbed a handful and stuffed it in his mouth. “But you’re not getting all of it!”

Munching happily, he glanced about the room. The humans were mostly engaged in watching the movie, and the keshmin were all fixated. Tyehtyeh, in particular, was leaning forward in fascination.

The movie progressed, and they all booed the villain, and cheered Mulan and her gang.

Much to Rinn’s satisfaction, he was able to eat most of Bradford’s bag of popcorn. When she reached into her bag to grab some more, only to find it empty, she gave him a dirty glare, but he merely grinned in return, munching on the last of it.

Once the movie ended and the lights came up, she got her revenge by stuffing the empty bag onto his face. Rinn stared straight ahead for a moment, then proceeded to make the best of the situation by licking the buttery residue off the inside of the bag.

“Oh, goddamnit,” Bradford laughed, yanking the bag back off his head. “You’re an ass.”

“You’re the one who shoved a bag on my head,” he said, waggling his ears at her and licking butter off his snout.

He glanced around, and noticed that most of the Marines and all of the keshmin were filing out, but Tyehtyeh was still staring at the blank ‘screen.’

Bradford followed his gaze, and raised an eyebrow. “Hey, Tyehtyeh. You awake? Movie’s over.”

The keshmin seemed to be startled back to himself. He took a breath, glancing around, then turned to look at Bradford. “You celebrate this story?” he asked, his voice lacking his normal, artificially manly-deep tone. “Of this woman, who takes on a man’s role?”

“Yes, of course,” Bradford said. “Mulan is probably the most famous, but there are many other examples like her throughout history. In the modern day, we recognize women as equal to men.” She waved at herself. “So long as we can do the job, there is nothing we’re not allowed to do.”

“I see …” Tyehtyeh said, his ears drooping in consternation as he frowned.

“What’s the matter, Tyetyeh?” Bradford asked. “Can’t handle the thought of a woman chasing your tail?”

Tyehtyeh’s ears popped back up, and he shook himself out of whatever funk he was in. “Oh, well, you know …” he said, putting on his fake-deep voice again. “I always have women chasing my tale. It’s such a problem, I, well, I almost have to change my identity, sometimes! I had to join the army just to get away from them all!”

“Right, sure you did,” Bradford laughed, shaking her head as she stood up. She tapped Rinn’s shoulder. “C’mon,” she said. “You’ll want to get plenty of sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

“More running?” he asked, giving her the sad eyes and ears.

“Yes, more running,” she said.

“Tahsh.”

Episode 14

“Forward, at a double-time, march!” The familiar sound of feet hitting the ground in time mostly covered the muttered grumbles and complaints in the pre-dawn light.

“Here we go again!”

“HERE WE GO AGAIN!”

“Same old song again!”

“SAME OLD SONG AGAIN!”

Do they ever just … not run?! Rinn thought to himself as he jogged along in formation with Echo Company. The other keshmin were distributed amongst their assigned squads for the battalion’s formation run. Their cadences are actually kind of fun, but the running spoils it …

He panted hard as they stormed around the base. Rapid construction could be found at every turn. An unending stream of troops, equipment, and supplies poured through the portal in mind-boggling quantities, at an unbelievable pace. They ran past cleared and flattened lots that had been stands of trees the day before. Previously cleared lots had new tents or buildings popping up overnight, or were being filled with lines of vehicles or rows upon rows of supplies stacked on wooden pallets.

Human aircraft rumbled overhead as they circled back to the older buildings they constructed the week before. His ears perked up when he realized where they were, and his tail twitched in excited relief when their barracks came into view, bathed in the light of the Earth sun just starting to crest the horizon on the other side of the portal.

We’re almost done! He thought, his tongue lolling a bit as he smiled. Maybe I won’t die today, after all!

He grinned when they rounded the last corner, and faltered as they passed in front of their barracks without slowing. What! No! Where- Where are we going? The head of the column made a turn, heading down a road that led away from the end point of their run. Why? Why are they doing this? He whined, glancing over his shoulder at their retreating barracks.

The Marine behind him chuckled. “Head down and drive on, Devil Dog!”

Ears drooping, Rinn faced front and drove on.

Too more rounds past the barracks and the Marines were called to a halt. “Artificers! Fall out!” Barakis shouted, making sure the order was passed down the line. “Medical says that’s all you get to run in a day!”

Rinn stumbled out of formation, tongue lolling as he resisted the urge to fall to the ground, even as some of his compatriots did just that.

“Recover, clean yourselves up, and be in Conference Hall 8 by oh-eight-hundred.”

Rinn nodded alongside Duke Yeshai, the only other keshmin still standing.

Barakis turned back to the humans. “Marines! We’ve still got a run to finish! First Sergeants, get ‘em moving!”

A series of groans and shouted orders later, and the battalion stormed away in a cloud of dust.

Yeshai panted as he watched them go, his ears drooping in exhaustion. “They run a forced march every day …” he shook his head, then with a visible exertion of will, he lifted his ears and turned to his countrymen. “Let’s get them up. We have an important conference today.”

“Yes, your grace,” Rinn yipped around his own pants. He was too tired to lift his own ears past a worn-out sag.

Fortunately, the humans had not left them completely alone. A pair of corpsmen moved about the stricken keshmin, distributing chilled bottles of colored, flavored water and taking vitals. Satisfied that they weren’t about to die from exhaustion, despite the keshmins’ own certainty on the matter, the corpsmen helped them to their feet. Whining and groaning as their muscles started to stiffen, they hobbled into their respective barracks.

*****

“Man, there’s more stars in here than … one of them astrology … onomy … stargazy things.” Kawalski muttered, leaning back in his chair to get a little further away from the brass gathering in the room.

“Observatory, brah.”

“Yeah, that.”

Bradford shook her head. “Stick with what you know, Kawalski, and keep your goddamn mouth shut.”

“Yes, mom.’

“Fuck you, Kawalski,” she whispered.

“Yes, mom.”

She glared at him, but knew that was a battle she couldn’t win. Instead, she said nothing and settled into her chair.

Conference Hall Eight was basically just an empty prefab with a bunch of classroom-style desk/chair combos arranged in a rough circle around the center of the room. Judging by the battered condition of some of these things, and the fact that most of them have old chewing gum stuck all over the bottoms of them, they were probably hauled in from some local school …

“Dude, General Langstrom just walked in with more stars in tow than a summer blockbuster.” Kimber muttered. “Why the fuck are we here?”

“Do we have everyone?” Langstrom asked an aide, receiving a nod in return. “Alright, folks,” he spoke up, his voice carrying across the room. “Let’s get started.” He glanced around at the people dispersed across the dense cluster of desks and scoffed. “You know, when I asked my staff to get this type of chair for this meeting, I told them to get as many as they could get their hands on.” He shook his head. “They went and got me way more than I needed.” His mouth twisted in a sardonic grin. “Figures, the stuff we don’t need to win a war, we have in spades, but anything you need to fight and win, nowhere to be found!” He threw his hands up with a short bark of a laugh, eliciting a chuckle from around the room.

He waved his hands towards where he stood in the center of the circle. “Bring it in and tighten up, so we don’t have to shout across the room.”

A flurry of screeches and scrapes followed as several people shifted to new desks, and a few opted to scoot their current seats to new positions.

Bradford exchanged glances with her squadmates as the keshmin nobles moved closer to the front. They all opted to stay put in their chairs, along one of the walls. So did the enlisted keshmin.

“Alright,” he said once everyone had settled, his voice carrying across the room at nearly the same volume. “There are too many of us here to waste time going around the room introducing ourselves, and frankly, right now, I don’t care.” He looked about the room, his hands on his hips, eyeballing senior officers and NCOs of every branch in the US military.

“This is as much a spit-balling session as anything else, and I don’t care who you are, if you’ve got good ideas or inputs, I want to hear them.” He started pacing back and forth in the small, open area at the center of the circle, like a caged panther.

He’s not one who can sit idle for very long, Bradford noted.

“We now have solid data on the capabilities of our elven enemies, and the capabilities of the regular troops, artillery, and artificers of the Ganlin Royal Host.” He held up a hand, counting off on his fingers. “Our objectives with this meeting are to use that information to identify elven capabilities that we are particularly vulnerable to, ways to counter them, elven vulnerabilities that we can exploit, ways in which we can integrate artificer capabilities to benefit our units and doctrine, and how best to utilize the existing regular troops of the Royal Host.”

He turned, pacing back to the other side of his cleared area. “I am primarily interested in tactics, strategies, and policies we can enact in the immediate future, and over the short to mid-term. I am more concerned with what we can do now,” he pointed at the deck, “than with what we might be able to do six months to a year from now,” then waved at the bulkhead to emphasize his point. “Though we still need to leave ourselves room to maneuver when we get to that point,” he added, bringing both hands over to point at something next to his left hip. He looked about the room, half sitting on the corner of an empty desk and opening his arms to the crowd. “So, what have we got?”

A two-star Army General leaned forward. “What is the benefit of integration in the first place? Is there even a utility here? How can troops armed with pikes and glorified catapults support us at all?”

“We can train them and equip them with modern weapons and equipment, like we did in Iraq and Afghanistan,” another General spoke up. “They won’t compare to our regular forces, but even with rudimentary training and basic equipment, the twenty thousand troops they managed to hang on to can make a good holding and rear-guard force. Putting them to that use is already the plan for Operation Bulldog.”

“Isn’t their army scattered all over the place, with lots of wounded?” a full-bird asked.

“Less wounded than you would think,” the second General said. “Seems like most got cut down on the field or ran away, not much in-between. The couple thousand they do have too wounded to fight didn’t get past their camp. They’ve got over twenty thousand troops in camp now, and a report I saw this morning said they think they have another ten thousand to fifteen thousand on top of that scattered about they can muster back up, and that doesn’t even count the rest of their army stationed elsewhere, or other troops they’re trying to raise.”

“Thirty thousand organized, veteran troops is a helluva lot more than we started with in Iraq,” an Army sergeant major said. “And they can’t need any more instruction on firearms than some of the Iraqis did,” he added, earning a few chuckles from around the room.

“Probably want to go with M16s and M4s over AKs,” an Air Force Lieutenant Colonel said. “We’ve got plenty of ‘em, and it simplifies logistics.” He received several nods and murmurs of agreement.

“TRADOC’s just up the street,” an Air Force general said. “We could start shipping them up there for training.”

“So, we equip their army with guns so they can hold the rear, and hold the country when the war’s over and we pull out,” the first two-star said. “They’ll still need transport to keep up, so either we truck ‘em around, or we also give ‘em trucks and teach ‘em how to drive, and the logistics to support it all. That’s a lot of giving on our part, as well as carrying the bulk of the war effort. What do we get in return?”

“That’s more a question for the politicians, Stan, don’t you think?” a Navy two-star asked.

“It’s logistics,” General ‘Stan’ grunted back. “And basic cost-benefit analysis.”

And a question we have to factor in,” Langstrom said, standing up and turning to Yeshai. “Much as I hate giving politicians a say in tactical and strategic planning, they get a vote on this one. If we’re going to equip your troops with our weapons, we’re going to have to give the politicians something to justify the expense. Beyond winning the war.”

“I am not empowered to negotiate such trade deals,” Yeshai said, pausing as one of Langstrom’s aides translated for most of the room. “But I am sure there is a lot of knowledge and resources that the Kingdom can provide for such an exchange.”

“We’ll leave the negotiations to the politicians,” Langstrom said. “But that should be enough of a bone to throw to them. They’re already salivating over trade deals for magic and resources.”

“I’m more interested in what their artificers can do with our units,” a three-star Marine said. He looked familiar, and as he turned in his seat to face the keshmin, Bradford recognized him from various chain-of-command photo trees. That’s Lieutenant General Ekhart, the CO of the entire I Marine Expeditionary! “Those shields they can put up are pretty damned impressive, and the report I read from the battle at Backstreet One had a single artificer deflecting heavy artillery from one of their big towers. Put them in a Humvee or LAV, and they can shrug off fire like an Abrams.”

“Most of our artificers are not nearly as talented at shield casting as Second Artificer Ahyat,” Yeshai said, flicking an ear at Rinn, “But shielding your … vehicles,” he said, in heavily-accented English, “Is certainly within our artificers’ capabilities.”

“So that’s definitely something to pursue,” Langstrom said, nodding at one of his aides, who was already jotting down notes.

“We’ve already got armor that can stop their smallarms fire,” General Stan interjected. “A shield that can stop heavy artillery would be great, but if most of them can’t do it, is the training and effort to embed them in our units going to be worthwhile?” He shook his head. “They’ve got some neat tricks, I’ll grant you, but I don’t think the time and expense of training and equipping them will be worthwhile. We’d be better off putting that time and resources into putting more of our own troops into the fight, and attacking sooner.”

“He’s got a point,” an Air Force General said. “Integration takes time. The more time we focus on that as a strategy, the longer it takes us to go on the offensive. Operation Bulldog already has our forces spearheading the assault, once we get our logistics situation sorted. We’re losing enough time with that as it is, and we have no idea what kind of strategic depth of forces the elves really have. If we want to press ahead and keep them on the backfoot, we can’t afford to wait any longer than we absolutely have to before going on the offensive.”

Several heads nodded in agreement or at least understanding around the room.

“Shields aren’t all they can do, sir,” Bradford said, surprising herself by speaking up. She blanched as all eyes in the room turned to her, and she came under the scrutiny of most of the command elements in the entire theater.

“Speak up, Sergeant,” Langstrom said, the barest hint of an amused smile on the corner of his mouth. “I asked for you and your squad to be here for a reason.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, swallowing. Most of the looks she got were neutral, but a few were dismissive or critical. Her squad looked at her with a mix of reverence and horror. She cleared her throat. “One of the most immediate things they can do is disrupt the elven invisibility spells. We can see their blending on thermals, but we don’t have a counter for their true invisibility.”

“I was wondering when someone was going to bring that up,” Langstrom said. He glanced around the room. “The sergeant is right. The lab coats are all working hard on looking for a counter that we can deploy, but aside from our military working dogs, so far, they’re all drawing up blanks.”

“Dogs will only be so much help on the battlefield,” a Navy Master Chief spoke up. “We put them to great use in Iraq and Afghanistan, and I owe my life to a few of them, but they’re not going to be of much help to an Abrams crew, or an Apache in the air, and there’s only so much a dog can do in the chaos of the battlefield.”

“So, we embed a few in each unit for invisibility detection to supplement our canine units,” General Stan said. “That’s still not a case for large-scale integration.”

“Respectfully, sir, that’s not even the most important thing.” All eyes turned to Bradford once more, some in particular carried a measure of hostility. She swallowed again. “Ahyat was invaluable because he knows how the elves fight. He knows what to expect from them. What they’re capable of. What tricks they pull, and how to counter them. He saved my entire battalion from an elven ambush, not just because he could disrupt their invisibility. That wouldn’t have meant a damn thing if he hadn’t realized why the elven mage towers had stopped firing on our position.” She took another breath. “We just got here, sir. They’ve been fighting the elves for seven years.”

“Sergeant Bradford’s right,” Colonel Michaels said.

Thank you, sir, for the backup.

“We brought in technology and firepower the elves did not expect, and it gives us a distinct advantage, but we’ve had all of two whole engagements with them, and none of us know what we can expect the elves to do or bring to the field in response.” He nodded at Yeshai and the other keshmin nobles. “Except for them. Their knowledge and expertise is invaluable.”

“And their artificers can do more than just shields and anti-invisibility,” Major Volchok spoke up. “The range demonstration they put on last week was pretty damned impressive. Most shots don’t hit as hard as an M16, and they can’t compete at long range, but at typical engagement ranges, they work well enough against the targets we’ll be facing. They can also enhance our weapons and armor to be even more effective. A single artificer is more than just a shield or an intelligence asset. They are force multipliers.”

“Until they run out of ammo,” another Army General spoke up. “That’s been one of their army’s biggest problems, hasn’t it? Their supply of mana crystals?” He frowned, clearly still adjusting to saying those words in a serious context. “I know we captured a large stockpile from the elves in our last engagement, but we can’t rely on capturing enemy supplies. If the Ganlin army has trouble supplying their own forces, how are they going to be able to supply units embedded in our forces?”

“Could we make our own?” an Air Force Colonel asked. “Hook up a generator to some device that can convert electricity into mana?”

Rinn’s ears twitched, but Yeshai beat him to answering that question. “That is something that is possible in theory; we can convert mana into lightning, it should be possible to convert lightning back into mana, but none of our experiments have succeeded.” He paused. “Some of them ended rather famously in disaster.”

“Twenty years ago, one of the professors at Yagyhanae blew off the top of the southwestern tower in an experiment trying to convert a lightning bolt into mana,” Rinn whispered to Bradford. “Since then, those experiments have been forbidden on the campus grounds.”

“Our own eggheads are working on that. If that’s possible, it will lead to all manner of new technologies and weapons, but it’s not something we have now, or that we’re likely to have tomorrow.” Langstrom shook his head, and made the motion of crumpling something into a ball and tossing it away. “Let’s put that in the “future concerns” bucket, and add mana supply logistics to our near-future concerns.”

“Not an immediate thing to consider, but what about the possibility of magically-enhanced artillery shells?” One of the Army Generals spoke up. He was close enough that she could tell his unit insignia was for some kind of artillery regiment, though she couldn’t make out which specific unit.

The subject bounced around the room, with Yeshai and Ayan supplying some details on keshmin manufacturing capabilities, but was ultimately thrown into the Future Concerns Bucket. The time for development, testing, and manufacture was outside the window Langstrom was interested in.

The conversation immediately jumped into the possibility of mounting keshmin direct-fire artillery on American armored vehicles. Volchok provided a detailed analysis. “The potential is there, but conventional US weaponry is more powerful at present. If we could tap their guns into a generator and directly convert electrical energy into mana, however, they may well give the main gun on an Abrams a run for its money.”

“Another future concern, then,” Langstrom said.

“Yes,” Volchok nodded. “Though their current artillery shouldn’t be discounted. It doesn’t have the range of modern artillery, and our equivalents are better, but they would still be a threat on a modern battlefield. Against the elves, while I’d still prefer a US armor platoon, a Ganlin artillery battery can still be a lot of use, especially if combined with other modern equipment.”

“Noted,” Langstrom said. He turned to a three-star Army General. “Frank, sounds like a job for your boys to figure out.”

General Frank nodded. “I’ll get some men on it.”

“So, it sounds like the foundation of Operation Bulldog is still the best path we can take,” Langstrom said, after further discussion of logistics and regular army equipment options. “Two/Five will continue their training and study exercise with the keshmin artificers while we sort out our logistics nightmare. In the meantime, we’ll start standing up training programs for the regular Ganlin army. Should be pretty easy, we’ve got plenty of experts in that field from Iraq and Afghanistan. We’ll train them on M16s and standard US kit, and start equipping them and pairing them up with mechanized Army Reserve units for transport once the politicians sort their shit out.”

He glanced at his watch and frowned. “I wish I had more time for this sort of shit, but we’ll have to wrap it up here.” He stood up from the desktop he had been sitting on. “If anyone has any further inputs or concerns, forward them to my office.” He looked at General Ekhart. “Brad, I want your men to put together a detailed plan for augmentation of regular Marine and Army units with keshmin artificers, based on Two/Five’s efforts. It might not be fully implemented right away, but I want it ready to go ASAP.”

“I’ll have it on your desk by the end of the week,” Ekhart nodded. Bradford saw Michaels briefly frown before he repressed it. Three guesses who will actually be writing that plan.

“Also, Duke Yeshai,” Langstrom turned to the keshmin. “We’ve managed to capture an elven spy who slipped through the portal.”

All of the keshmins’ ears shot up, fixed on the general, along with most of the eyes in the room. “Alive?” Yeshai asked.

“Yes, alive,” Langstrom said. He grimaced. “He managed to kill a few people before we were able to catch him, but we captured him alive. Right now, we have him sedated so he can’t pull any magical suicide bullshit, but if your people have any advice or techniques for holding an elven prisoner, we would be more than happy to share any information we’re able to glean from him.”

“Yes, of course,” Yeshai said. “There are a few tonics that can suppress their magical abilities, or defocus the mind enough to make spell construction all but impossible. I will order a supply of them to be delivered immediately, and pen a letter to Lord General Yangri requesting further assistance at once.”

“Outstanding!” Langstrom said. “I’ll send an aid over with additional details.” He glanced about the room. “Ladies and Gentlemen. Thanks for coming, thanks for your input. Let’s get to work!”

“Attention on deck!” called one of the more junior officers at the edge of the room.

“Carry on,” Langstrom said as he departed.

With a sigh of relief, Bradford stood and stretched along with the rest of Second Squad while the brass started filing out of the room, though a few stopped to mingle and discuss various top brass matters.

“Thank the gods …” Tyehtyeh said, closing his eyes as he twisted his head from side to side, eliciting a few, barely-audible pops. “Above and below, I was right beside myself with boredom there. Least they could have done is liven things up with a bit of a tail show for us, eh, Yenyed?” he asked, elbowing the keshmin next to him.

Yenyed was not the keshmin next to him, however. Knight Captain Anyo sneered down his short snout, looking for all the world like a pointy-nosed cat who just got sprayed with water. “Second Artificer Tyehtyeh!” he snapped. “You are representing His Majesty’s Royal Host before an esteemed ally. You will comport yourself accordingly, is that understood?”

“Yes, m’lord!” Tyehtyeh said, snapping to attention.

“Frankly, Second Artificer, your behavior and ribaldry have been markedly unbecoming of a member of the Royal Host. Do you understand this, Second ArtificerTyehtyeh?”

“Yes, m’lord, but, ah …” he broke from attention to scratch at the base of a horn, then briefly tugged at an ear. “Technically, I’m not a member of the Royal Host, you see … My Line were irregulars, and we never were officially integrated into the Host …”

Anyo flicked his ears in disgust. “Gods-damned levies.” He took a deep breath, his ears returning to their regular, regal sweep. “Well, Second Artificer, you are a part of the Royal Host now, and you will adjust your behavior to be more appropriate. Is that understood, Second Artificer?”

“Yes, m’lord!” Tyehtyeh said, snapping back to attention. “As you say, m’lord!”

The Knight Captain gave him a final, disgusted look, then turned away. “Good. Now get out of my sight.”

“Right away, m’lord!” Tyehtyeh said, giving him a crisp bow. He immediately made himself scarce.

The Marines all glanced at each other at the exchange, which had drawn a fair amount of attention from around the room. Kawalski whispered, his eyebrows high, his mouth puckered tight, “Mommy just slapped daddy at the dinner table.”

Bradford rolled her eyes. “C’mon, let’s get the fuck out of here before any of you fucks do something stupid, too.”

***

“What’cha working on?” Bradford asked. Sitting down on her cot next to Rinn, she began pulling her boots off.

He swung an ear to face her, but kept most of his attention on the fine notebook and ‘ballpoint pen’ he had been given. “It’s a marching song,” he said, pausing to gnaw on the end of the pen while he hummed a tune under his breath. “I’m trying to work out the words for it in English.”

“Oh?” she said, leaning over to eye his notes before digging in her pack. “Don’t let First Sergeant Khatri catch wind of it, he’ll make you sing it during a formation run.”

Rinn rolled an ear at her. “It helps me learn English, in case we lose our translation spell, and so you don’t always have to translate for me.”

“Oh, by all means, then,” she said, pulling out a stiff-bristled brush. “Don’t let me interrupt you!”

He flicked his ear in amusement, and jotted down a few more words.

“Barber shop’s open!” Kimber said, holding up a buzzing device he had just used to shave his head with Dubois’ help. “Deployment cuts are half-price!”

Rinn quirked an ear as most of the squad started lining up. Bradford looked up from the boot she was brushing, smirked, and went back to cleaning off the day’s grime.

Edison was first in line and Kimber threw a sheet around him once he sat down on an empty bucket. “What’s this all about?” Rinn asked, watching as Kimber expertly trimmed off what little hair Edison had.

“Old Marine Corps tradition,” Bradford said, inspecting her boot before setting it down next to its mate. She pulled her pack out from under her rack and dug out a heavy, hard-bound book. “New guys on their first deployment shave their head.” She flipped the book open on a small but sturdy-looking bookmark and settled back on her rack to read. “No idea where it comes from.”

“Oh,” Rinn said, watching in fascination as the next Marine sat down to have his hair shaved off, his notebook momentarily forgotten. He turned an ear back towards Bradford. “Do you have to shave your hair?”

“Already did it. Davies, Dubois, and I caught the last quarter or so of the last deployment in Afghanistan. Shaved my head the day I reported.” She flipped the page. “Kimber just missed it. He technically should have been there for the last two weeks of the deployment, but they held him stateside until the battalion came back over.”

“Oh,” he said, watching as more and more hair piled on the floor. For a brief moment, he imagined all his fur being shaved off, and shuddered in horror.

“Rub my head for luck, Jabs?” Edison said, bouncing by with a towel and toiletries kit. He shoved his face in front of her book.

“Oh, fuck off!” she said, shoving him away before closing the book and taking a swing at him with it.

“Ah! Help! She’s turning her knowledge into a weapon!” he danced away, but not before catching a glancing blow.

“Gah!” he said, falling to the ground dramatically. “Foiled by thermodynamics once again!”

“Go fucking shower!” she laughed, rolling back over and re-opening her book.

“Yes, mooom!”

She sighed, pointedly ignoring him as he bounced back to his feet and sauntered into the head.

Rinn tittered a laugh, earning him an amused glare from Bradford.

“Bald head train!” Sampson called out, parading around the room with Stephens and Gomez following close behind. Stripped to their t-shirts and boxers, and just boxers in Gomez’s case, each held the hips of the man in front of him. “Chug-chug-chug-chug, Choo! Choo!” Samspon called out as the Marines bobbed their heads up and down in alternating rhythm. “Chug-chug-chug-chug, Choo! Choo!”

His barbering work done, Kimber threw the sheet over his head, putting on an extra deep voice. “And now I have become every man’s worst nightmare …” He popped his head out of the sheet, keeping it tucked around his neck, switching to a high-pitched, nasally voice. “I’m a broken condom! Heheheheheheh!”

“Goddamnit,” Bradford sighed, closing her book and sitting up to put it away. She stuffed it back into her bag, but Rinn could tell she was using the action to cover up a smile and silent laughter.

“Are all humans this crazy?” he asked, his ears back, as Gomez slowly took an exaggerated power stance in front of Kawalski, spitting out words that didn’t translate.

“Nah, just the men,” she said. “Us women are perfectly, one-hundred-percent stable and sane. Always.”

Rinn swung an ear towards her, cocked at a low angle, broadcasting his absolute disbelief.

“Don’t you point your ear at me like that,” she said, chuckling.

“Ohhh, KOWABUNGA!” Gomez shouted before jump-tackling Kawalski, triggering another group wrestling match.

“That’s not … You know what, never mind …” she shook her head.

“Chaos demons …” Rinn muttered under his breath, glancing back down at his notebook.

Bradford snorted. “Truth.” She shook her head. “On another note, speaking of the differences between men and women …” she pulled a momentary frown, “And now that Tyehtyeh’s not around. How do keshmin women differ from men?”

Looking up, he turned to Bradford, pausing to consider how to answer that question. One ear remained locked on the wrestling match.

“I mean, I’ve gathered from both you and Tyehtyeh that there are a lot of similarities between human and keshmin women, but how similar are we, actually?”

That brought the full attention of both his ears, and his mouth worked open a little as he tried to figure out how to respond to that field of traps.

She laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make that awkward.” She took a breath and put on a more serious face. “But seriously, though, what are keshmin women like?”

“Well, um …” Rinn tugged at a horn. “They’re … Um …” He frowned, flicking his ears at the other Marines then back to her. “Physically, the difference between keshmin men and women isn’t much different than the difference between human men and women, except maybe not as pronounced …” He held up his hands, passing them over each other. “There is more overlap in the range of normal sizes, I think.” He rolled his ears. “At least from what I have seen.” He paused. “And, um … Ah …” Above and below, this could get terribly inappropriate terribly quickly … “Keshmin women have … Arrangements …” He gestured in the air, then immediately regrated it. “That are … Similar to, that is, um …”

“They’ve got boobs, and wide, child-bearing hips?” She gave him an amused smirk.

He worked his mouth for a moment, glancing around the room, looking for something that wasn’t her … arrangements, before settling on her eyes with a defeated sag of his ears. “Yes, that.”

“Similar proportions?”

“Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six!” Edison commented, sauntering back out of the shower, waving his hands in an hour-glass figure, before winking at both of them and pitting a finger to his lips while spinning his damp towel into a twist.

“Yes …” Rinn said, gladly distracted by Edison’s elaborate sneaking.

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Is that it?”

“Well, no,” he said, turning back to Bradford. “Women tend to have thinner, more lithe tails, though depending on how their fur is, it can be difficult to spot that.” He tapped his horns. “And women don’t have long horns. They have horns, but they’re only buttons, only a finger or two long.”

“Oh,” she tilted her head. “Huh.” She smirked. “So, from the neck up, all those boys over there,” she nodded at the wrestling pile of Marines, “Look pretty damn effeminate from a keshmin perspective?”

He chuckled, flicking his ears in amusement. “Yeah, now that I think about it … They kind of do.”

Edison had finally snuck into position, and with a loud crack! he snapped an unidentified Marine in the ass.

“Ahhhh!” somebody screamed in an unidentifiably high pitch. “Fuck!”

The dogpile fell apart as Edison laid into them with his towel, though he was quickly tackled and disarmed

Kimber escaped the dog pile and returned to the bucket to retrieve his “clippers.” He started gathering things up to put them away, then noticed Rinn and Bradford watching the group. He looked down at the clippers, then back up at Rinn with a downright evil smile. “Hey, Shields! You wanna join the tradition?”

Rinn’s eyes went wide and his ears straight up in alarm. No. Gods no …

“Yeah, join us!”

“Candy Mountain, Charlie! Wait, wrong meme.”

“Guys, he’s got more time in country than the entire rest of the squad combined,” Bradford said, coming to his defense, to his immediate relief. “He doesn’t need to shave anything.”

“One of us.” Edison said, starting a slow chant as he stalked towards Rinn.

“One of us!” Gomez joined in.

Rinn immediately stood up and started backing away. “You 'hink you're 'ouchin me wi'h 'ha', you're ge''in a fireburs' up 'he arse first!”

“No, brah! Not the floof!” Stephens said, jumping in their path.

“Shave him!” Davies said, joining the mob.

“Defend the floof!” Kawalski cried, jumping up beside Stephens.

“Shave the witch!” Edison cried. “Shave the witch!”

“Defenders of the floof, unite!” Bradford cried, jumping in front of Rinn as Kimber, Davies, Edison, Sampson, and Gomez all started chanting, “Shave the witch! Shave the witch!”

Dubois and Miller quickly rallied to their cause as the Shavers advanced. Rinn bolted, his pen and notebook abandoned, and a general melee ensued.

He dodged several opponents, until at some point he squared off against Kimber and his buzzing machine of woe. Cackling maniacally, Kimber chased him around the barracks for several minutes before cornering him. Kimber gave a fake evil laugh, and moved in for the shave. Rinn faked left, then dodged right, hitting him with a mild spark to the leg.

“Gah! Fuck! Not again!” Kimber fell, knocking over a cot, and rolling on the ground, his clippers forgotten. “It took three hours for that to wear off, last time!”

Rinn took the opportunity to make good on his escape, hopping across several cots to rejoin his side. Hopping off the last cot next to Bradford, he found that the melee was finished, with his side the victors.

“Alright, you fucks, that was fun,” Bradford, chuckling as she caught her breath. “But it’s time to clean this mess up and get to bed.” She gave Rinn a smile and patted him on the back.

“Yes, mooom,” Kawalski said, turning to start righting an up-turned cot.

“Fuck you, Kawalski,” she said with a weary shake of her head.

“Yes, mooom!” the entire squad echoed back.

***

Rinn was excited. Today was another range day, which was fun enough on its own. And beats the hell out of PT days,he thought. But today was a particularly exciting day.

“Shooters, release your slide and make Condition One.”

A series of distinctive clacks rolled down the firing line as Rinn and the other artificers thumbed the slide release on the side of the M17 pistols they had been given. After an hour on the range, drilling with an empty weapon, they had finally been given direction to load ammunition.

“Shooters, stand by. Fire!”

He thumbed off the safety, took aim down the sights like he had been taught, and squeezed the trigger. He felt the point when the hammer released, and the weapon bucked in his hands as fire and thunder spit from the barrel. A barrage spread down the line as the other keshmin all took their first shot.

Rinn’s ears lifted under his earmuffs, and he grinned. The recoil was notable, but not nearly as great as he had feared. He even hit the target, though his accuracy wasn’t great. The next shot was better.

They emptied a full magazine one shot at a time. After reloading, the second magazine was expended with double shots. Afterward, they were given additional magazines, and moved to another range set for their crash course in what the Marines called their Combat Pistol Program.

“It’s not how I’d like to teach you all this,” Staff Sergeant Rickles had told them. “This program is normally days of classroom training and testing, days of dry-fire drills and exercises, and days of live-fire coaching and training. You’re getting it all condensed in …” he glanced at his watch. “Maybe four hours.” He shook his head. “But brass wants you guys issued pistols, and they want you familiar enough to use them in combat in a hurry.” He snorted. “Somebody decided you didn’t need to carry rifles if you’ve got your magic sticks, but they still want you familiar enough with all our weapons systems that you can fight with them if you have to.” He shook his head. “And we don’t have enough time for you to stand here and listen to me bitch. Let’s get to it.”

Draw. Shoot. Holster. Move. Draw. Shoot. Move. Shoot. Sweep. Shoot. Clear. Move. Not clear. Shoot.

The next two hours were spent running through a dynamic shooting range with Marine instructors following them through course, sometimes coaching them, sometimes screaming in their ears and driving up the stress.

When it was all said and done, Rinn sat against a berm, panting with the other keshmin, his arms sore, his hands stiff and a little numb, but happy. He had no idea how many rounds he had fired, and he was ready for a break, but shooting had been fun. His tail twitched in excitement. They were heading out for lunch in a minute, but after that, they were going to play with rifles, and machine guns.

***

“Ready?” Bradford asked.

“Ready,” Rinn said, giving her a confident dip of an ear, his tail stiff as he tensed to move.

“Hit it,” she said.

He brought up his staff, and a squad-sized shield shimmered into existence. “Shield up!”

“Go go go!” Bradford shouted, surging forward. The rest of Second Squad followed close behind. Spell blasts and simunitions zipped past them and splashed across Rinn’s shield as the Marines surged out of cover. They snapped off several shots at pop-up targets, and Kawalski sprayed a long burst of suppressing fire back in the direction they were getting lit up from, then the whole squad was moving across a long open stretch.

The magic blasts shattered and deflected with almost electronic pings and zaps that wouldn’t have been out of place on the soundboard of any sci-fi movie battle. The simunition rounds burst open with a weird, electric whipple or wobble. The colored paint splashed across the magical screen for a brief moment before being flicked away by the shield itself, creating odd flares of pastel and neon colors in mid-air.

They dodged around stumps and brush deliberately left in place on the new “dynamic” range built at the new edge of the ever-expanding base. Ducking into cover, the squad set up their new firing position. Rinn canceled the shield, reverting back to a low-level armor enhancement that was guestimated to keep the Marines’ armor plates from cracking with a single hit.

“Anyone hit?” Bradford asked, earning a mock-insulted glare from Rinn. The other Marines checked themselves and reported back negative. “Outstanding. Get ready to move again. Two more hops, and we’ll be there.” She glanced at Rinn. “You still good?”

“Yep!” he yipped. He was panting, but his ears and tail were up, and his eyes were bright. She grinned. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Hit it.”

***

“Pretty damned impressive, Sergeant, Second Artificer,” Major Volchok said. “That shield trick gives you a whole new level of mobility on the battlefield, and increased survivability along with it.” He looked past them for a moment. “There’re more than a few times I can think of where I wish we had something like it in Iraq.” He brought his gaze back to the present. “I know you’ve already proven effective against elves in combat, Second Artificer, but how well can others stand up to that kind of fire?”

Rinn waggled his ears. “Most can put up a shield as strong as mine, or nearly so, they just don’t have the knack for controlling it well.” He rolled his ears in a shrug. “Some of it is just not being as familiar with the spellstructs and their fine manipulation, but some of it is an intuition of how to best angle the shield and be efficient with it.”

Yeshai snorted, rolling an ear at Rinn. “Don’t be too modest, Ahyat. You’re better educated than most artificers of your station, but you’re also one of the most talented artificers I’ve seen who wasn’t a savant.” He turned to Volchok. “Any single field artificer in the Royal Host can put up a shield that can compare to his, but few can sustain it for as long or as well as he can, and I’ve never heard of a single artificer deflecting a blast from a mage tower before.” He flicked an ear. “In groups, it is not a hard task, and the power and skill of a single artificer has far less of an impact in a formation shield.” He paused, his ears canted as he considered for a moment. “Any single field artificer attached to one of your squads could do what Rinn just did, though few would be able to keep up with him, or block heavy artillery.”

Volchok nodded. “Still, just the protection from small-arms fire alone is impressive and valuable.” He snorted. “Implemented on a large scale, it could be a major revolution in small arms and infantry tactics.” He looked at Rinn, then Yeshai. “Was there anything else you wanted to show us, or try out?”

***

Rinn trudged back into the barracks with the rest of the squad. They were all tired and dirty from running around on the dynamic range all day, plus two hours spent clearing timber and building dirt and log walls, since the crew tasked with building their new dynamic range hadn’t actually finished it before being sent off on another task.

They were just starting to take off their packs when a strange noise came from the head. Quirking his ears as the whole squad turned to look, Rinn recognized the sound of someone “beat-boxing.”

“Two barracks-bunny girls go round the outside, round the outside, round the outside,” someone started singing, and Rinn quirked his head.

“Two barracks-bunny girls go round the outside, round the outside, round the outside.” A Marine came walking out of the head, one hand up to his face like he was holding something, the other bobbing in the air above him. On the taller side, he still had an awkward lankiness to him, despite the Marine physique. His short-cropped hair was blonde, and he wore thick-rimmed glasses over his blue eyes. “Guess who’s back, back back. Back again, gain, gain. Elder’s back, back back, tell a friend, friend, friend.”

The rest of the squad went wild, immediately dropping their gear and swarming the new arrival.

“ELDER!”

“GLEE CLUB!”

“YOU CRAZY FUCKING BASTARD! About damn time you get back in the war!”

Getting a better look at the man, around the other Marines who were all but dog-piling him, Rinn realized he did look familiar.

“Back in the war? Last I checked, you guys were lounging around on Coronado Beach!”

“Man, that was nearly two weeks ago! We’re gearing up for the next offensive now.”

“And training. Hey, Shields!” Kimber called. “Get over here! You guys never got properly introduced!”

Rinn finished stowing his pack under his rack and walked over to the crowd.

“Elder, this is Second Artificer Rinn “Shields” Ahyat,” Kawalski said, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “We managed to hang onto the furry bastard after we picked him up in that first fight, and he’s saved our asses a buncha times now.” He withdrew an arm to point at Elder. “And this is the man, the myth, the legend, Private, excuse me,” Kawalski tapped Elder’s rank tab. “Lance Corporal Thomas “Glee Club” Elder! Jabs’ the brains of our operation, but Elder here is the musical soul of the squad! Nearly all our musical traditions were started by him, or made musical by him!”

“Nah, half of them you guys already had, I just embraced ‘em!” He grinned, shoving off Kawalski’s praise.

“You were one of the Marines that was medivaced,” Rinn said.

“Yup!” he nodded. “Piece of shrapnel tore up my ass cheek real good! Gonna have a wicked scar from it, too, but I’m fit to fight now, and ready to kick some elven ass!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Rinn saw Davies frowning at him and Elder, then nudge Stephens with a confused look. “Oh, right, brah,” he said, and whispered a translation.

“Glad to hear it,” Bradford said, patting him on the back. “Though at this point we’re about to go grab some chow, get cleaned up, and hit the rack. Tomorrow’s a heavy PT day, and we’ve got an extra early start. You fit for full duty?”

“Ah, mostly,” he said. “I can run and fight!” he added after Bradford’s glare. “But I’ve got a chit that says I’m not supposed to do heavy lifting for a few more days yet.”

“So only a little broke-dick, just like everything else supply sends us,” Dubois said, patting him on the back. “Glad to have you back, man.”

“Good to be back. Oh! I talked to Gutierrez! We shared a room for a while, actually. He’s doing good, but he’s got months of rehab, and docs aren’t sure if he’ll ever be able to walk right again, but they kept his leg!” He chuckled. “They stuck him in my room when they brought him out of surgery, and when he first woke up, he was still pretty out of it. I had him convinced they put his leg on backwards for about three hours, ‘till he sobered up enough to actually fucking look!”

“Hahaha! He woulda probably danced better like that, anyway!” Sampson said.

“Oh, you guys have no idea!” Kawalski said. “Did I ever tell you about that time, back when he and I were both Lance Corporals, that he tried to get a dance competition going with some hadjis in one of the villages on our patrol route?”

Bradford snorted. “I don’t think I’ve heard this one.” She shook her head. “C’mon, you can tell us about it on the way to chow.”

“So, we were on a hearts-and-minds mission, stopping at the villages on our patrol route, trying to get the hadjis to like us, right?” Kawalski said as they headed out of the barracks.

Rinn quirked an ear, as eager to hear this story of Kawalski’s and more human escapades as the rest of the squad, but glad Bradford had suggested the tale be told on the way to the chow hall. I’m starving.

“So, Gutierrez was like, ‘We all dance, everyone dances, dancing’s a great way to share cultures and make everyone happy with us!’ and we were like, ‘Sounds legit,’ so our LT bought off on it. Mind you, we all knew Gutierrez was big on dancing without actually bein’ any good, but this was before we had figured out just out fuckin’ terrible he was. But boy, did we fuckin’ learn. We fuckin’ learnt alright …”

***

“We keep learning how they fight, and all our effort is directed at learning how what we can do can improve how they fight,” Ayan said, cutting into a slice of “pork roast.” “Why do we never show them how we fight?”

“Because they already know how we fight.” Yeshai said, after swallowing a bite of pork. “They used to fight the same way themselves, hundreds of years ago. With their … ‘technology,’ our way of fighting is obsolete.” He gave a snort and an ear flick. “Hells below, if we had a supply of mana to meet all our needs, the way we fight now would be obsolete for us, too.”

“Do they expect us to just follow their lead on this whole campaign?” Anyo asked. “To take a subservient role, while they run the war, as if we haven’t been fighting it for the last seven years?”

Anyo’s ear flicked towards Rinn, where he sat with the other common artificers at the far end of the table, but this time he kept his mouth shut. Today had been a long day, starting with an early run, then the whole morning and part of the afternoon had been spent running around, learning American military squad tactics in open fields and close buildings, followed by a heavy PT session in the gym. I am tired, and sore, and nothing I have to say at this point would be appropriate for a yeoman to say to an Earl.

Besides, he was starving, and the humans were feeding them better in these dinners than anything that was being served in the chow hall.

“Well, if they’re content to let us just sit back and watch while they win the war for us, I’m not entirely sure we shouldn’t take them up on the offer.” He smirked after crunching down another carrot. He’d taken a liking to the orange tubers. “I’m sure our troops wouldn’t have anything to complain about that.”

“If the troops had anything to say about it, they’d be lounging around drunk all day, or packed up and gone home,” Anyo twitched his ears in annoyance. “We should be at the very front of this!”

Rinn bit through his own carrot, and bit his tongue to keep his mouth shut.

“Worried about missing your chance for glory, Telmu?” Yeshai quirked an ear at him.

“Damn the glory, man! I’m talking about politics!” Anyo all but tossed his fork on the table. “Whomever drives this war to victory will have power of position. They will be able to dictate terms, not just to the elves, but to anyone else who fought! The humans have strength of arms enough as it is, if we allow them to run this war and claim the victory, where does that leave us?”

“You have a fair point,” Yeshai said. “And one that is not unconsidered.”

“As it should be,” Anyo said, continuing his rant as he built up steam. “And more over is the insult! They are peasants, the lot of them! They would dictate and give command to us? To the King?”

“Concerns of culture and propriety only carry so much force on the battlefield, Telmu,” Yeshai said, with another subtle smile.

“Their strength of arms is a point in their favor on this,” Ayan said, flicking an ear at Anyo. “They undoubtedly have the stronger military force. It is only natural that they would expect to take a leading role in the conflict.”

Rinn focused on his meal as Anyo, Ayan, and Yeshai continued their discussion of politics for several minutes. Nothing appropriate to say, he thought as Anyo seized every opportunity to disparage the humans or cast doubt upon their intentions or motives. Eventually, the conversation wandered back to the subject of their own troops.

“The common soldiers have no care or concern for the higher matters of strategy or politics, or the war at all! Even these we have here, if not for orders from their betters, or perhaps the temptations of human technologies, would gladly just wander off home, no concern for the war or the Kingdom at all! In fact-”

Anyo’s rant was interrupted by the sharp clatter of Rinn’s chair hitting the floor. His ears twitched in rage, and he had no memory of standing. “I am from Laelae, my lord,” he spat. “I have been home in this war, with the whole of the Royal Host at my back.” He growled between his clenched teeth. “We arrived in time for me to bury what was left of my familyin the ASHES OF MY HOME!! Every man that fought and bled and died beside me was committed to defending the Kingdom, defending our homes and our families, and I would gladly fight, and bleed, and die if necessary, seeing this war to its end alongside the valiant men and womenwho came through that portal," he shouted, pointing through the wall, "than spend one more minute listening to a sniveling coward like you!”

The room fell into such silence that one could hear a pin drop as every eye and ear in the room was locked on him, mouths agape in shock.

Realizing exactly what he had done and said, Rinn turned to Yeshai and gave him a deep, formal bow. “Your grace, I apologize for disgracing your table. I will not disgrace it further.”

He rose from his bow, turned with parade ground precision, and marched out of the room.

*****

Bradford walked into the unfinished conference room, not happy that she had to be there. The rest of the squad squad was prepping and staging gear for a field exercise the brass was planning for the following week. She, on the other hand, had a mandatory sit-down session to talk about her feelings.

At least this room’s more than three-quarters done,she thought as she found a seat in the circle of chairs, nodding at a few people she recognized. Several other Marines were already there, and all of them were female. A few more followed in behind her. Most were enlisted, but three were officers, one of whom was Major Winters.

“Now that everyone is here, let’s get started,” said a civilian woman, who joined them in the circle. My name is Carrol Quincy. We’re here to discuss and evaluate how you all are doing, and give each of you the opportunity to share advice and support.” She took a breath, giving a sincere look around the circle. “I cannot stress enough that this is not a critical evaluation of your performance or capability. This is to evaluate how you are each doing, mentally and emotionally. The Marine Corps has committed to putting women in combat roles, that’s not going to change, but it is also understood that, as some of the first women in those roles, the stress and strain on you is going to be particularly high.

“We’re here to talk to each other, without the men around, to give each other support, advice, and work out issues. If there’s anything you want to talk about in private, anything you need more specific help or action with, I’m available at any time.”

She sat back with a smile. “Now, all of that said, let’s start with introductions. Major, if you would start us out? Tell us who you are, what unit you’re with, a little bit about your career, and something interesting about yourself.”

“Of course,” she said, then took a breath. “Many of you already know who I am. I’m Major Carrol Winters, XO of Second Battalion, Fifth Marine. I’ve done two tours in Iraq, and I just came from a tour in Afghanistan.” She paused to think for a minute. “I’ve got two kids, a girl, five, and a boy, three.”

They went about the room. Most of the women were in Infantry, though a few were not. The ones who were senior enough to have already done a deployment had all seen action, even the ones who weren’t actually Infantry. Most of the Something Interestings had to do with family or personal hobbies, though a few were a bit more exotic.

Her turn came around, and she took a breath. “I’m Sergeant Jamie Bradford. I’m the Squad Leader of Second Squad, First Platoon, Echo Company, Two/Five. I caught the last quarter of our deployment to Afghanistan.” She paused, looking for something interesting about herself. “I’m a fourth-generation Marine. My family has fought in every conflict we’ve been in since World War II.”

Introductions continued around the room. Bradford dutifully paid attention and took mental notes, but she wasn’t particularly interested in the activity. My squad is doing work without me. I have work to do.

Carrol spent the next thirty minutes prompting and promoting discussion, teasing conversation out of several who weren’t particularly interested in talking, and keeping those who were all too ready to talk from dominating the discussion.

“Alright, at this point, I’m going to step out of the room and let you talk amongst yourselves. Whatever you say here will between each of you. This is your opportunity to connect with each other, share advice and experience, and support each other, without feeling like anyone is looking over your shoulder. I’ll come back in at the end to wrap up the discussion.”

She stood up to leave, and Major Winters stood up as well. “This is where I’ll be leaving as well. I’m high enough in the chain now that I can’t hear or know about some things if they don’t need to be brought to my attention. Just know that if any of you need any help or advice, my door is always open.”

A few nods and murmurs passed around the room as they left, followed by an awkward silence.

They stared at each other uncomfortably for a moment, before one of the more talkative types finally broke the silence. “Well, I guess I’ll get us started, then,” she said. Her name is Susan. She told her daddy she enlisted because he wouldn’t buy her a pony, but she’d secretly been wanting to be a Marine for years. She took a breath. “I … actually don’t really have anything else that I want to talk about.” She laughed a bit. “I mean, I haven’t been with my unit long, so I haven’t had much more than the usual problems.” She looked across the circle at Bradford. “Jamie, right?” She continued when she got a nod in return. They had been instructed to use first names in the counseling session. “You’ve done part of a deployment already, but you haven’t talked much. How have you been handling … All the boys?”

Bradford shrugged. “I dunno … I grew up with three brothers, two older one younger, so I’m already used to hanging out as one of the guys.” She paused to consider. “I get some unpleasant shit from other guys in the Company now and then, and one guy in my squad is …” she frowned. “An ass. But they mostly treat me like a sister. Sometimes I’m the baby sister they’re trying to protect, sometimes I’m the big sister they’re looking up to or who has to take care of them. Lately, since I got bumped up to squad sergeant, I’ve been feeling more like a mom to the lot of them.”

“Oh my god, yes …” one of the Sergeants across the circle said, rolling her eyes. Tracy. She had a kid in high school who she put up for adoption. “My guys act like I’m their fucking mother. I don’t have to clean up after them, much, but I feel like I’m babysitting a bunch of fucking toddlers.”

“Ha, yeah, I’m the platoon mom, too,” another Sergeant laughed. Loren. She enlisted with her brother.

“Oh god, they’ve been doing that with me, too.” Susan squeezed her head between her hands with a grimace. “Which gets really awkward when I sometimes have dreams about fucking a couple of them.”

“Only dreams?” another Corporal asked, a sly grin on her face. Casey. Her interesting fact was that she had lost her virginity in a combat zone.

“Wait, you have?”

“Why not? If it’s not in the chain of command, who cares?”

“I don’t fuck people at work,” Bradford said. “As a rule.”

“That might be all well and good for you, but this girl’s got needs.” Casey pointed her thumb back at herself, then smirked. “They make a big deal about the guys being horny Marines, but they forget, we’re Marines too!” She shrugged. “They got an itch, I got an itch, we both scratch each other, and move on.”

“I’m dating a guy from another company,” another Corporal said. Ayesha. Her dad was a lawyer and all of her siblings were in law school. She was the family disappointment. “We’ve been keeping it on the down-low, but I honestly don’t think we’re really fooling anyone.”

“Nah, dating’s a bad idea,” Casey said. “I don’t date uniforms.”

“I dunno … He’s sweet, and we really click, you know?”

“What about the emotional attachment thing?” Susan asked, looking at Casey.

“Oh, I make it clear that there’s no strings attached, and if they start acting like there are, I make it clear we’re done.”

“Has anyone had one of their superiors suggest sex would improve their eval?” one of the quieter lance corporals asked. Wendy. Her mother was a Polish immigrant, and she chose Infantry to prove to her mother that she could handle being an adult. And to pay for school.

“Honey, if that’s happened, you need to report that shit, ASAP,” Casey said.

“If you need help doing that, let me know,” one of the Lieutenants said. Danielle. She had a BA in theatre, with a minor in business management. She had signed on to pay for school, and saw action in Afghanistan.

“N- no, nobody has,” Wendy said. “I was just wondering. I- I hear stories, but didn’t know if any of them were true …”

“I have,” a Staff Sergeant said. Jenny. She got in trouble in high school, and the Judge was a former Marine who let her off easy if she enlisted. “This was a couple years ago. I told him to go fuck himself, and if he suggested it again, I’d report him.” She shrugged. “He dropped it, and I got a decent eval.” She frowned. “I can’t help but wonder if I should have reported him. I didn’t have any problem telling him to fuck himself, but someone else after me might have.”

The discussion wandered around a while after that, and to Bradford’s surprise, she found herself taking on more of a mentor role, and sharing some advice with how she handled the men in her squad.

After about forty-five minutes of discussion, Carrol came back in. “Is there anything you learned that you wanted to talk about, or that you thought might be good advice for other women in their position?” She took several notes, they discussed another question or two, then Carrol closed her notebook in her lap. “Well, that wraps things up for today. I’d like to have another of these in a couple weeks, but with the war, nothing is set in stone. If at any point, any of you need to talk, about things discussed today, or anything else, my door is always open. Thank you for your time.”

Bradford stood and stretched with the others, and filed out of the building. With a brief glance around to verify her bearings, she headed back to her squad. She was concerned for what antics they might have gotten up to while she was away, but overall, she was much happier about the session coming out than she had been going in. I learned a couple things … And I helped several others learn more.

*****

“Mind if I join you, Second Artificer?”

Rinn lowered his ocarina. “Not at all, m’lord,” he said, flicking an ear at an open seat. Lord Sayiash sat down across the table from him. It was only the second time Rinn had seen the Lord Artificer in the common area. “How may I be of service?”

“On the contrary, Second Artificer, I am here to be of service to you,” Sayiash said. He spared a brief glance at Rinn’s notebook, but kept both ears facing him. “And, to thank you.”

“M’lord?” Rinn asked, sitting up. Since his outburst the previous night, the other keshmin had been silent or distant. It was after dinner, now, and Sayiash was the first keshmin to speak to him all day.

“First, to allay any fears you might have about your … words last evening, Duke Yeshai has ordered that there be no consequences for you. Under other circumstances, it would go far beyond the bounds of what is appropriate for a yeoman to say to an Earl, never mind a soldier to an officer,” He flicked an ear. “And the Knight Captain was quite insistent on demanding satisfaction for his honor.” His ears waggled back and forth. “But His Grace would hear none of it. You were provoked, and insulted, and were you a nobleman yourself, you would have more than enough grounds to demand the satisfaction of your honor from Lord Anyo.” Sayiash flicked an ear at him and gave him a hint of a rakish smile.

Rinn cocked an ear, surprised and intrigued. “Thank you for telling me, my lord. I would not have expected His Grace’s support.”

“No, I must thank you, Second Artificer,” Sayiash said. “For opening my eyes about Knight Captain Anyo,” he added when Rinn cocked his ear even further. “I followed his lead because he is well above my own station, and it is right and proper for young lords such as myself and Ayan to court his favor and follow his example. But I did not see him for what he truly is, not until last night. Thanks to you, we both now see how following in his shadow would besmirch our own honor, and how he would have us …” His ears twisted as he frowned. “What is that phrase you regular troops are so fond of, about one’s tail position during bowel movement?”

“Shitting without lifting your tail, m’lord?”

Sayiash smiled. “Yes, that.”

Rinn flicked an ear in amusement. Getting what he wants said, said, without saying it himself. He’s cleverer than I thought.

The young lord took a deep breath. “Now, this is not normally within the bounds of propriety, but there aren’t many of us here, and as we are both assigned to the same company, I am your superior, in this convoluted chain of command that we have. So, if you need an ear to vent your frustrations to, I am available. Sometimes we must air our grievances, however inappropriate.” He grinned, flicking an ear at Rinn. “It’s good for the humors.”

Rinn snorted, flicking an ear back. “I … Appreciate the offer, my lord, and I might take you up on it at some point, but I’ve already had the opportunity to express my grievances to my squad leader, Sergeant Bradford.”

“Oh?” Sayiash’s ears flicked up in curiosity. “And may I ask how that went?”

“I, ah …” Rinn’s ears flicked back in mild embarrassment. “I had previously spoken to Sergeant Bradford about … home … And, ah …” He took a breath. “I nearly had to physically restrain her from going after Lord Anyo herself.” He flicked a single ear back against his skull, and alternated them for a moment as Sayiash chuckled. “She is very protective of her squad, my lord.”

“I am glad to hear it, and glad that you have found such close comrades among the humans, and so quickly. It bodes well for us, and our future together.”

“I think they’ll be good for us, m’lord, and us them.”

“I hope you’re right, Second Artificer.” He pushed himself up from his chair. “If you have any concerns you need help with, bring them to me, and I’ll see they are addressed.”

“As you say, my lord,” Rinn said, dipping his head.

“Oh, and one other thing,” Sayiash said, pausing in his turn to depart. “Be wary of Lord Anyo. His Grace has ordered him to forget the matter, but he is, by my own experience and by his reputation, a very vindictive man. Propriety and his own livers preclude him from acting openly against you, but I will be terribly surprised if he does not seek some mode of reparation against you. Be on guard.”

“… Thank you for the warning, my lord,” Rinn said, dipping his head once more.

With a nod and an ear flick, Sayiash departed, leaving Rinn to himself once more. He frowned at the table, his ears twitching as a cluster of Marines playing one of their video games in the opposite corner shouted at some noteworthy play.

He looked up, and saw Miller across the room, looking at him overtop a book he was reading. He met the man’s eye, and gave him a nod and a dismissive ear flick. The stoic Marine gave him a nod in return, and went back to reading his book.

Rinn looked down at his ocarina, still in his hands, and brought it to his lips. He started his tune over, his thoughts wandering in a new direction.

*****

“Movie night!” Elder said, bouncing down into a seat in the auditorium. “Man, I’m so pissed I missed Mulan night!”

“Dude, like, eighteen people have it on a harddrive somewhere. You can watch it at any time.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the first movie night! It’s a tradition!”

“Fair enough,” Bradford laughed, settling down in the open spot next to Rinn. “So, what are we watching tonight?” Even she was a bit stiff after the previous day’s hand-to-hand training. Rinn had snagged his bag of popcorn then hobbled to his own chair. Oof. I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand back up again.

“Only the greatest movie ever made!” Elder said. “It’ll totally make up for missing Mulan!”

“Oh? And what is the greatest movie ever made?” she asked as Rinn happily snuffled into his bag of popcorn. One of the advantages of being so close to the portal was that they had a steady supply of human snacks. This time, we even got extra butter!

“You’ll see,” he said as the lights dimmed and the movie started. Someone fiddled with the projector a bit, adjusting the focus and slightly skewed angle. Rinn wasn’t sure of how successful they were. The focus was better, but the angle was still slightly skewed, just in a different direction.

“Well, it’s not a Disney movie,” she said, as a logo with giant words surrounding a globe played across the screen. “I think that’s a first for you. What is it?”

“You’ll see!” He said, grinning.

“Is it a musical?” she asked as a human rode some kind of velocipede with a creature in a basket across a moon.

“Mmm.” He said, as a moon appeared in a set of clouds.

“Is that a set of cat eyes in the clouds?” she asked, then her entire face fell as a light little tune that sounded like it was played on a strange clavichord started up. “Oh no … Oh god, no …” The scene descended and a car unlike any he’d seen while visiting Earth rolled onto the screen. “You fucking monster. Are you fucking kidding me?”

Elder giggled, and high-fived Stephenson.

“Cats?! Are you fucking kidding me? Are you really going to make us all watch this?”

“The greatest movie ever made.”

“You’re insane.”

“Ever. Maaaaadddeee.”

“Whats w’ong wif it?” Rinn asked, around a mouthful of popcorn.

“It’s just …” Bradford rubbed her face with her hands. “You’ll see. Just … Just don’t judge humanity by this monstrosity, please. It’s a nightmare.”

Rinn quirked an ear at her, giving her a sidelong glance, then turned his attention back to the movie with both ears, his curiosity peaked.

An hour into the movie, Rinn leaned over to whisper to Bradford, his attention still raptly held by the screen. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“I have no fucking idea,” she whispered, staring at it with horrified fascination. “I want to get up and leave, but I can’t …”

Rinn reached into his bag of popcorn, and frowned when he found it empty. Cautiously, he reached over to steal some from Bradford, eliciting no reaction as she stared at the screen, as if she had been hypnotized.

Another hour later, and the lights came back on as names scrolled up the screen. “I still don’t understand anything of what happened,” he said, shaking his head.

“Nobody does, dude …” Bradford said, a haunted expression on her face. “Nobody does …” She shook herself from her daze, then looked down at her empty bag of popcorn. “Wait a minute … Who the fuck ate all my popcorn?”

Rinn swept his ears back and gave her an innocent look as she turned to glare at him. “You fuck!” she said, dumping the crumbs out on his head.

He yipped a laugh, then ducked under her arm to stick his own empty bag on her head. “Here, I got you something to keep your head warm.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she said, immediately grabbing him in a headlock and shoving both bags onto his horns. He tried to slip away before she could grab him, but his bruised muscles betrayed him. “Here, you can wear them, you don’t have a cover, anyway.”

He yipped a chuckle as she let him go, almost falling to the floor. Standing up like an old man, he managed to get his back straight with a groan. He brushed himself off, and proudly wore the popcorn bags all the way back to the barracks.

Episode 14.5

With a sharp intake of breath, Tyriel snapped his eyes open. He held perfectly still while confusion reigned, and remained motionless as memory returned.

He was not pleased to find himself still alive.

Slowly, he took stock of his situation. He was lying on his back on some kind of hard board. The room was brightly lit, from square panels of light on the ceiling. The ceiling was white, and so were the walls that he could see. They were made of large, painted bricks. He was dressed, but not in his clothes. His left arm was encased in something, and held across his chest by some kind of sling.

He sat up. He was wearing a thin, orange jumpsuit. The hard board was a bench against one wall. Across the room was a door with no handle, and a slot at the bottom. It was currently closed. In another corner was a waist-height basin, and a bowl with a seat on it. Similar to the water closet devices in the human home, but stark in their austerity.

Taking a deep breath, he quietly swung his bare feet to the smooth, stone floor. He closed his eyes, and with another breath reached for the ambient mana that pervaded the universe.

Nothing.

His eyes shot open, and a brief flare of panic spiked in his heart before he stamped it back down. Mana is everywhere. It is a fundamental element of the universe. They must be repressing it.

With another breath, he closed his eyes and reached for the Umbral Planes of Pelianor. He found no connection, but wasn’t surprised. I barely held a trace connection near the portal, I wouldn’t expect it to reach wherever here is.

Not being able to reach the Umbral Planes was not particularly concerning to him. After all, his calling required him to spend much of his time in the material plane, with only brief visits to Pelianor’s sacred realms.

What concerned him was his follow-on attempt to create his own, local dreamscape. Or, rather, the failure of the attempt. Not enough mana … He frowned, trying to tap the etherium again, and again meeting no success.

He opened his eyes, looking about his cell. This will try my patience.

Shrugging, he laid back down on his bench, folding his free hand across his chest. He had barely closed his eyes when a piercing, pulsating screech tore through his cell at deafening volume.

Jumping to his feet, heart racing, he stood ready for any threat.

The piercing wail cut out almost as soon as it had begun.

The slot on the door opened, and a tray of something that looked like it might be accused of food was slid through. The slot slammed shut immediately after.

His heart still slowing, Tyriel stepped over to the tray to inspect it. It was made of some rigid material, contained a gruel-like substance, and a white spoon. Nothing was metal.

Sneering in contempt, he turned away from it, only to clap his free hand against his ears as the piercing wail returned. It stopped when he turned back to the tray. He glared about the room, wondering what method of scrying they were using if there was no magic available, and grudgingly picked up the tray. I’m hungry, anyway.

The gruel was bland and lacking in any distinct flavor, but it was edible. It’s so bland, even a tasteless poison would give it flavor.

When he finished, a panel on the door opened, revealing a bin. He looked at it, looked at his empty tray, then turned away from the door.

The bleating wail returned immediately. Cringing, he tried to ignore it, but he felt the pulsing shriek grate through his brain. He lasted only a few minutes before he turned back to the door and threw the tray and spoon into it.

The siren stopped immediately.

With a frustrated sigh, he returned to his bench and laid down. He had no sooner closed his eyes when the wail started again. It stopped when he sat up.

He waited, but nothing else happened.

Glaring at the ceiling, he laid back down, only to be interrupted by the wail as soon as his eyes closed. He sat back up, suppressing a growl. This will try my patience, indeed.

***

A full day went by, or as close to one as he could estimate. The lights stayed on, and the wail kept him from sleeping. Even when he took the sling off to cover both ears and tried to ignore it, the volume just increased and it took on new, even more aggravating tones and undulations.

A second meal was delivered, and he ate it to keep the wail at bay. He returned his utensils when he was done, also to keep the wail at bay.

He tried to meditate, but the wail would interrupt him if he closed his eyes. It frequently interrupted him, anyway.

Sometime after his second meal, Tyriel began pacing his cell. He tried the sink, but the water only worked sometimes. He hadn’t figured out the timing, yet. “If they even have a timing for it,” he muttered to himself.

He ran his hand through his hair as he paced back and forth. “What are they trying? What is their goal? Why splint my arm only to torment me? I don’t know …”

He started walking laps around his cell for a change of pace.

The third meal came and went, and still Tyriel had not slept. He dared not try. “Trying to sleep brings the wail,” he whispered, reminding himself while he sat on his bench, huddled against the wall.

He screamed in frustration, and slammed his head against the smooth, white stones. The pain brought focus, and he slammed his head again. This time, a splash of red added the first color he had seen in days. It was days, right? Has it been days?

Staring at the blood, a thought struck him, and he smiled. “I have them, now.” He reared his head back, and screaming, slammed it against the wall. He screamed again, striking harder. The wail returned, but the pain helped block it out.

He slammed his head against the wall again, painting it with more blood.

The door opened behind him, and before he could strike again, strong arms hauled him away from the wall. “Noo!” he cried, screaming in frustration and rage, but the humans were stronger than he was.

His bench scraped against the floor, then he was pinned against it. Restraints clipped around his arms and legs, and straps went over his torso. He struggled, but soon found himself completely restrained, unable to move.

Once the last of his restraints was verified secured, the humans left. Tyriel screamed again, straining against his bonds, but quickly tired himself out. He was already exhausted. His head and arm both throbbed. Cursing them in his mind, or maybe aloud, he twitched and spasmed against his restraints until sleep took him.

***

The wail woke him, and Tyriel once again found himself unrestrained. He had been sleeping. He was still exhausted, could not have slept for long, but what little amount it was still helped.

The wail got him up and moving again until his fourth meal was delivered. He put the utensils in the bin before the wail prompted him, and was rewarded with its absence.

He paced around his cell again, muttering to himself, trying find a mantra to help him maintain his focus. After four hundred and thirty-one laps, he tried his sink. It worked this time, and he managed several gulps of water before it cut out.

He paced the room twice more before collapsing on his bench. “What are they doing? Why?” Part of him wished they had just brought out the knives. He could deal with that.

***

The wail woke him again. He was still exhausted, but the wail had let him sleep longer today. He used the water closet, and was allowed two gulps of water before the sink cut out.

He resumed pacing.

Another meal was delivered. Mindlessly, he proceeded to the tray and sat down in front of it.

“Maybe I should count the laps between meals,” he said, halfway through the gruel.

“Maybe I should count the laps between sleeps. If they let me sleep, now. Maybe I’ll get a longer sleep today.” Growling in frustration, he through the empty tray and utensil in the waiting bin. “I need to stop talking to myself.”

He counted five hundred and eighty-eight laps before flopping down on the bench.

Sleep claimed him almost instantly.

It seemed like the wail woke him immediately after, but the stiff muscles and crick in his neck told him otherwise.

He counted a thousand and seven laps before his meal was delivered.

He tried sleeping immediately afterward, but the wail didn’t let him.

Three thousand, six hundred, twenty-three side-to-side laps later, and he was allowed to pass out on his bench.

The wail woke him for the seventh time. He was stiff, and still tired, but he could tell he slept longer than the night before. “If that was even night …”

The slot opened, and his meal was delivered. “I didn’t sleep that long …” He frowned, and proceeded to the door to retrieve his breakfast. He diligently ate it, and returned it to the bin. He was half-way through the fifth lap when the door opened.

Several humans stormed in, seizing him and pressing him against the wall. His hands and feet were shackled and chained to each other, and he was led from his room.

They took him down a confusing series of identical passageways, before opening an unmarked door and ushering him through.

Inside this new room was a table, two chairs, and a large mirror. They set him down in one chair, shackled him to the floor, and left.

Tyriel sat alone in silence for some time.

I wonder if the wail will catch me if I try sleeping here, he thought just before the door opened.

A human man in an unmarked uniform walked in. He was tall, but not the tallest human Tyriel had seen. His close-cropped hair was brown, and he had brown eyes. His skin was not brown, but he also wasn’t what Tyriel would describe as pale. He calmly walked over to the table, setting down a folded sheaf of papers and a ringed book of clean paper before sitting across from Tyriel.

“Good morning. My name is John. What is your name?”

“Tyriel,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation. The animal would probably call me something disgusting if I didn’t give him my name.

“How are you today, Tyriel? How is your arm?”

Tyriel glared at him, refusing to speak any further.

John opened his sheaf of papers, shifting a few of them around. “Tyriel, I am going to lay out the ground rules for your stay here with us. First and foremost, so long as you do not assault your guards or any other personnel, you will not be harmed. It is very important that you tell me if any of your guards mistreat you. They are not allowed to.”

He flipped over one of the pages. “Your cooperation will be appreciated, but we will not force it from you. Cooperation will be rewarded with luxuries that you do not currently have. Failure to cooperate will result in those luxuries being removed. Do you understand this?”

Tyriel narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Good.” John gave him a small smile. He picked up a stylus and opened the ringed binder. “I will be asking you some questions, Tyriel, and would appreciate your cooperation in answering them. Is that okay?”

Tyriel kept his eyes narrowed, watching this ‘man’ suspiciously. “Ask your questions, human.”

“Do you have a favorite color, Tyriel?”

“No.”

John nodded, writing in his ringed binder.

“Do you play any sports?”

“No.”

“Do you like music? We might be able to provide you with some.”

“… Yes.”

Another note in his binder. “Do you have any family?”

Tyriel stared at him in silence.

He set his stylus down. “We will attempt to inform your government that you are alive and being held as a Prisoner of War. If you have family, they will be allowed to send you messages, but you will only receive messages from any family members you list.” He picked up his stylus. “Now, do you have any family?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any family that you would wish to hear from?”

Tyriel paused, considering. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “My granddaughter,” he finally said. “Anseliar.”

John made a longer note in his binder. “We will have to get some more details, but I assure you we will make every effort to contact your government.”

“They will not speak to you.”

“We will still try.”

“Then you are as stupid as we think you are.”

John flipped over one of the pages in his sheaf. “How old are you?”

Tyriel glared at him in silence, growing tired of his questions.

After the silence dragged on long enough to make it clear Tyriel wasn’t answering, the human made another note in his binder. “How long do elves live?”

“You think you are clever?” Tyriel sneered at the animal across from him. “You think your species has accomplished anything? We walked the world when all your kind were young! We knew Gahla in its entirety when your kind were still learning to use sticks. You are but insects, crawling in the mud. I was older than your nation before you animals had nations.”

He leaned as far forward as his shackles would allow. “You will all fall before our swords. If you are lucky, we might deem you worthy to be crushed beneath our boots.”

John casually leaned back in his chair. “I think we are done here for today.” He collected his papers and closed his binder, then stood up. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

With Tyriel glaring his hatred at his back, the human turned and walked out of the room.

Tyriel was left alone in the room again. He counted twenty-two hundred fifty-three heartbeats before the guards returned to collect him. He was led down another, confusing series of identical corridors, before being deposited in his cell.

The guards pushed him backwards into his cell, removed his shackles, and then departed. He heard the rattle of several locks on the door after it slammed shut.

Turning, he found his cell had changed. The hard, wooden bench had been replaced by a simple, metal bedframe. On it sat a thin mattress, a thin blanket, and a pillow.

Tears welled in his eyes, and he screamed at the bed. He grabbed the pillow and threw it across the room, followed by the blanket, then the mattress. Still not satisfied, the frame was upended and the blanket and pillow were tossed about three more times as he raged about his cell.

His energy exhausted, he collapsed in the middle of his cell, panting as he stared about at the small mess he had made. For all his anger and rage and screaming, he was still in his cell. Still a prisoner. Still without magic.

Defeated, he stood, righted the frame and replaced the mattress. He collected the blanket and pillow, and wearily fell onto the bed. Covering himself and settling into a comfortable position, he let sleep claim him.

His sleep was undisturbed.

Episode 15

“Give me that old Marine Corps Spirit!”

“GIVE ME THAT OLD MARINE CORPS SPIRIT!”

“’Cause it’s good enough for me!”

“’CAUSE IT’S GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!”

“It was good for Chesty Puller!”

“IT WAS GOOD FOR CHESTY PULLER!”

These people run too gods damned much! Rinn panted as the battalion thundered around the base on their morning death march. And oh, look, here we are, running past our barracks again, getting our hopes up just to dash them. He stifled a whine. At least today they’re cutting the run short for helicopter training. When this is all over and done with, I don’t ever want to run again.

***

“Hahahaha! And the looks on their faces when we went evasive!” Edison kissed his fingertips and flared his hand as he backed through the bunk room door. “Perfection!”

“Nah, the best part was old Shields here,” Kawalksi threw a heavy arm around Rinn’s shoulders, nearly causing him to stagger into the door frame. “He was all stony faced, like, ‘I’ve done this before, this is nothing exciting,’” Kawalski said, putting on a fake deep voice. “Even as the huey went sideways!”

“I was trying not to throw up,” Rinn admitted, flicking an ear at Kawalski as he trudged back to his rack, sore, tired, and trying to pretend that his legs weren’t all wobbly after the day’s aerial adventures.

“Yeah, what’s the straight-horned one with all the ‘that’s what she said’ jokes, Tyaytyay?”

“Tyehtyeh,” Rinn corrected.

Kimber gave him a “whatever” wave. “Yeah, him. He puked his guts out all over the tarmac three feet after he got out when we landed.”

“Ha! He did better than old Stuffy McStuffyface, threw up in mid-air!” Kawalski chuckled. “Projectile vomited when we went evasive! Though, we were horizontal at the time, so it mostly just went straight out the door!”

“Mostly my ass!” Edison said. “I was sitting at the down door when he spewed! He puked all over the back of my helmet!”

“Hahaha, yeah, it was great!” Kawalski grinned. “You should probably go clean that off, though …”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Rinn sighed as he popped his boots off, wriggling his toes and savoring their freedom. These human boots fit better than any other pair of boots I have ever been issued, and they are mostly broken in by this point, but they were still combat boots. And they don’t quite match my foot shape. He pulled his shower gear out of his pack, looking forward to a hot soak, only to watch a parade of four Marines scramble past, already half undressed and dibsing the showers first.

He sighed, setting his shower kit at the end of his rack before digging out a pen and notebook. It’s probably best to go last, anyway, now that we get more than five whole minutes of hot water. More time to soak.

“More English lessons?” Bradford asked, leaning over to look at his notebook as he flipped it open.

“Yeh,” he yipped, still amused the Gyani word for ‘yes’ was so close to an informal English word for the same.

“And what’s the word of the day?”

“What is the word for …” he frowned. “It is a place in a home where you build a fire.”

“A fireplace?” she asked.

He flicked an annoyed ear at her. Of course, that would be a word they used. “Yes, but … no, that is not the meaning I’m looking for.”

“Mantle?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not it, either. The place where the fire is, the foundation, the hearth.”

“The hearth?” she asked, and he sighed.

I should have just led with the word.The words were different, but the meanings were identical. Not everything translated so well, but many words did. “Yes, that is the word. Hirth.”

“Hearth,” she said, emphasizing the vowel sound.

“Hyarth.”

“No, no y, stop putting y’s in everything.”

“YI Dyon’t knyow whyat you myean,” he yipped in heavily accented English, flicking an ear at her and sticking out his tongue.

She laughed, then grabbed her pillow and swung it at his head, barely missing as he fell to the side. “Now try it again, you guber.”

“Ha-arth,” he said, drawing the vowel out as he sat up. “Harth.”

“Close enough,” she said, chuckling.

He flicked his ears up with a smile, and jotted down the phonetic spelling in Gyani.

“How did you say your word for it?”

“Sfyisch.”

“Ssfayeesh.”

“No, sfyisch.”

“Sfwitch?”

“No, it’s not a hard tch, it’s a softer sch.” He considered for a moment. “It’s like a hissing tch. And its yi,” he yipped the short vowel sound, “Not uuhhhhwwweeeee. Stop flapping your big, fat lips.”

“Hey, you got lips, too, dumbass!”

“Yeah, but they’re not so fat and poofy, like yours!” He flicked his ears at her. “You look like you got stung by a bee.” He flicked an ear to the side. “Or a dozen.”

This time, the pillow did catch his head, and sent him flopping to his rack. “Oof.”

“Who’s got big lips now, bitch!” she said, puffing her chest out and swaying her head back and forth.

“I don’t know, was that your lips or your pillow you hit me with,” he said, sticking his tongue out at her, promptly earning himself another bonk. “Oof.”

“And just for that, you’re gonna have to wait until I’m done with the shower,” she said, hopping up and snagging her toiletries bag as a gaggle of half-dressed Marines chased each other out of the head.

Rinn chuckled as he tossed her pillow back on her rack and sat back up. That’s just more time for me to soak.

“Hey, have you guys seen my Switch controllers?” Kimber asked, digging through his pack. “I can’t find them anywhere.”

“Where’d you have them last?” Dubois asked, not even looking up from the boot he was cleaning.

“I could have sworn I put them back in this pocket,” he said, tapping a pouch on his pack. “That’s where I keep them, but they’re not anywhere.”

“You can borrow mine,” Edison said, once again performing surgery on the squad’s GoPro. He gestured absently at his pack. “They’re in the clip-on bag, somewhere.”

“Thanks, man, but … I wanna find mine.”

“D’you think someone might’ve, like, grabbed ‘em by mistake, brah?” Stevens said, pulling on a clean shirt.

“Or not by mistake?” Miller asked.

“Yeah,” Elder said, looking up from his phone. “We had that platoon thief a while back, remember?”

“Dude, that’s why you need to carve your name into them,” Davies said, lying on his rack playing his own Switch. He lifted his hands to show his name carved into the same kind of controllers Rinn had seen Kimber using. “That’s what I did with mine.”

“I had my name on them, man, in sharpie.”

“Yeah, but sharpie can come off,” Edison said, still focused on the GoPro. “Alcohol or a dry-erase marker can do the trick.”

Kimber grumbled something, and started expanding his search area.

“Hey, Shields,” Kawalski said, dropping down next to him. He only had his boxers on, and was still a little damp from the shower. “Teach me more keshmin swear words! How do you say fucknugget?”

Rinn raised an ear and an eyebrow at him. “We don’t have that one.”

“Well, come on, then, what else have you got? I’ve got a new one for you! ‘Twat!’” Kawalski grinned. “Means ‘pussy’ in English English.”

Rinn flicked his ear. “Is that how you use your words words, when walking down the street street?”

Kawalski laughed. “No, fuck face, it’s English spoken by the English, as opposed to real English spoken by Americans.”

Rinn paused, pen in mid-air, and stared straight ahead for a moment. “Wot?”

“Kawalski, you dumbass, the English inventedthe English language,” Dubois said. Rinn didn’t even need to look at him, he could hear the eye-roll.

“Guys! Guys!” Gomez stuck his head out of their supply fort. “I found some boxes we missed! They’re full of fucking duct tape!”

“No shit?” Kawalski said, immediately distracted by the prospect of creative acquisition. “How much?”

“I dunno how we missed it, hoss, there’s boxes and boxes of this stuff! Different colors, too!”

“Sweet! Grab us all a roll! Jabs, too!” Kawalski paused, then stood up. “What all colors are there?”

“Dunno yet, I haven’t gone through all the boxes, but there’s a few at least.”

“Lemme see.” Kawalski disappeared into the fort. “How the hell did we miss all this. Oh, I see, it got buried behind the fuck tent.”

Dubois looked up. “Why do you have a fuck tent?”

“Dude, you always need a fuck tent!”

“Who the fuck are you fucking?”

“Your mother! Heheheh!”

***

Rinn pulled the earmuffs off his head as the firing line was declared cold. The new earmuffs they had been given had deeper cups with more room for his ears, but they still didn’t fit well. We’ll have to talk to somebody about getting some properly designed for us, he thought as he trudged down range to collect his targets. The Marines had scrounged up a few more of their pop-up metal targets for the “new” range, but they were mostly still shooting at paper tacked to wooden frames.

Back at the tables behind the firing line, Rinn looked over the keshmin targets with a pleased quirk to his ears. Their scores were not anything the Marines would consider good, by any means, but even the grizzled Gunnery Sergeant running the range begrudgingly nodded his approval at them being passable. Barely.

Not bad at all, for what little training we’ve managed to fit in around everything else. Lord Anyo is even showing a particular knack for the weapons, at least on the fixed range. Rinn was pleased to note that his own scores had surpassed Anyo’s on the dynamic range, much to the Knight Captain’s chagrin.

Lunch consisted of MREs at the range, and Rinn once again got to demonstrate his “advanced knowledge” of human equipment to the other keshmin, and warned them away from the less favorable MREs. Not that I’ve actually tried many of them, but our pallets seem to match close enough that I’ll take the Marines at their word.

The lunch break was short, barely enough time to heat the food and gulp it down, before they were hurried off to the next event on the range, this one pushing the artificers to their magical limits.

***

“Ceease fire! Cease fiiire!”

Rinn panted, overheated and out of breath, as he lowered his stave. The targets down range were shredded, both by gunfire and spellfire, but this wasn’t a measure of accuracy.

“Most impressive, Ahyat,” Yeshai said as Rinn stepped back from the firing line. “How many armor enhancements were you able to maintain?”

“All twelve of them, Your Grace,” Rinn said, still trying to catch his breath. “But I couldn’t keep up with the machine guns. I could barely keep up with one, nevermind three!” He shook his head, making sure to close his mouth to keep his tongue from lolling, though his ears still flopped a bit. “The best I could do was one enhancement every fifth or sixth shot with two. One in a dozen with three.”

Yeshai snorted. “No worse than anyone else so far, and you did it while maintaining all armor enhancements, a very fine shield, and respectable spellfire of your own.” He flicked an ear. “Any of us might surpass you in single skills, but on the whole, I’d dare say you’re the best of us, and by no small margin.”

“You honor me, your grace,” Rinn said, giving him a bow.

“Your service honors the kingdom,” Yeshai replied, dipping his head in return.

Straightening, Rinn couldn’t miss Anyo glaring at him, but he pointedly ignored the Earl. Siyan had gone before Rinn, but Anyo had gone before him, and all but confirmed Rinn’s suspicions that the Knight Captain was a sparker.

“And who’s our next contestant?” Gunnery Sergeant Valdez called as Rinn flopped down next to Bradford, happily guzzling the bottle of water she handed him.

“Tyehtyeh, that’s you!” Yenyed called, glaring at the oblivious artificer.

“Oh, right!” Tyehtyeh said, looking up from the spellstructs he had been studying. He barely even put on his false-deep voice.

“Oh, here we go …” Bradford muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t be spiteful,” Rinn said, flicking her ear with his tail. She swiped at the offending appendage and tried to grab it, but he quickly snatched it out of her reach. “He’s made incredible progress these last two weeks. He hasn’t admitted it, but I’m fairly certain he’s had no formal education as an artificer, or even at all.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “So, his bluster’s all just a show, deflecting from his … ignorance?”

He dipped his head with an affirmative ear flick. “And the more I give him to study, the less he remembers to put on the act.”

“Huh …” Bradford said, giving Tyehtyeh a newly appraising look.

“Line ready?” Valdez called out. “Shooter’s stand-by! FIIIRE!”

Tyehtyeh immediately popped up a shield and sent a triple shot of tight, powerful firebursts down range, before the Marines could rack their bolts and engage. Brief flashes of light rolled down the line as armor enhancements went up.

He still needs to kill that startup flare, but at least he’s cut out the continual glow, and his efficiency is a hundred-fold better. He’s barely leaking any mana!

Tyehtyeh hesitated as the rifles opened up, several rounds zipping down range unseen. He rolled his ears, shifted his feet, and every single shot became a visible bolt, glowing as it snapped down range.

More rifles opened up, then a machine gun, then two, then tree. Rinn’s ears shot up under his earmuffs. Every single round glowed.

Then Tyehtyeh brought his stave to bear and let off a barrage that made Rinn’s spellfire look like a peashooter.

“CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIIRE!” Valdez called as the targets disappeared into several plumes of splinters and smoke.

“Holy shit!” Bradford said. “He hits like an artillery piece!”

Rinn looked at her, then to Tyehtyeh, then to Yeshai and the other keshmin. A small part of his mind was pleased to note that he wasn’t the only one whose jaw was hanging open.

“Did I mess up again?” Tyehtyeh asked, sheepishly scratching at the base of a horn.

Yeshai shook his head, the first to collect himself. “No. No, you didn’t.” He looked at Rinn, forcing the field artificer to collect himself. “Second Artificer, you wouldn’t happen to have a metering artifice in your repertoire, would you?”

He cocked an ear to the side, wondering what the Duke was getting at, before it clicked. “Yes, your grace, I do.” He stood up, retrieving his stave, and walked over to Tyehtyeh with Yeshai. The Marines and other nobles muttered amongst themselves in their separate groups as Tyehtyeh squirmed under the unexpected attention.

“Second Artificer Tyehtyeh, have you ever been officially metered?” Yeshai asked, stopping in front of him.

“Well, ah, no, Your Grace,” Tyehtyeh said, scratching at the base of a horn. “Militia really only ever cared that I could sling spells, didn’t much care for any of the details.”

“I suspected as much,” Yeshai said, dipping his head in a small nod. He flicked an ear at Rinn, then back to Tyehtyeh. “Second Artificer Ahyat, if you would be so kind.”

Rinn nodded and stepped forward, his stave held low in one hand. He didn’t really need it to run this particular artifice, but he suspected the extra precision and peak range it allowed would be useful.

“What’s this, then?” Valdez asked, stepping up to the line.

“The lad has never been officially metered,” Yeshai said, waving a hand at Tyehtyeh, an exaggerated gesture probably for the human’s benefit. “He has no idea how powerful he actually is. We’re about to find out.”

“Will this hurt?” Tyehtyeh asked, his ears nervously twitching back.

“Of course not,” Rinn said. “You don’t even really need to do anything. Just passively channel a mana stream.” He paused. “Down range, if you please.”

“Right,” Tyehtyeh said, turning to point a hand down range. Rinn brought up the metering artifice, set so the measurements were visible in the air. At first, there was nothing, then Tyehtyeh closed his eyes and everything spiked.

“Above and below …” Yeshai muttered as Rinn scrabbled to shift the ranges the meter was displaying. Tyehtyeh blew past the maximum levels. Twice. “I should have realized it you’re your first demonstration. You’re a gods-damned savant!”

“What?” Tyehtyeh squeaked, spinning around and cutting off the mana stream.

“Not just a savant,” Rinn said, his eyes and ears locked on the measurements his artifice was still displaying. “Your Grace, by my figures here, he’s one of the most powerful savants to ever live.”

“What?” Tyehtyeh said again, this time with a little less squeak. “That can’t be right!”

Yeshai, turned to Valdez. “Gunnery Sergeant, we are done here for today. We need to do a complete examination and assessment of Second Artificer Tyehtyeh’s abilities. And I need to write to the King.”

*****

Scrubbing her face, Bradford trudged around the corner of a building on her way back to the barracks, after dark, and smacked right into someone. “Oh, shit!” she said, stumbling back while fumbling out to catch the other person before they fell.

Bradford kept her balance. The other person he the ground with a yipped, “Oof.”

Looking down, horrified at her clumsy inattentiveness, she found Rinn glaring up at her. “I was hoping to run into you on my way back, but I didn’t mean for you to take it literally!”

She laughed, reaching down to help him up. “Sorry, I’m just a little brain-dead right now.”

“Oh,” he said, standing and dusting himself off. He flicked an ear at her. “I couldn’t tell the difference.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she said, giving him a shove that sent him staggering and nearly back into the dirt.

“Abuse!” he cried, struggling not to laugh. “Help! Help! I’m being abused!”

Bradford just continued walking, flipping him the bird over her shoulder.

“That rough a day?” he asked, jogging briefly to catch up. “Too much activity on your surprise afternoon off?”

“Pff, I wish.” She sighed, waving at the barracks ahead of them in the distance. “Most of the guys got the rest of the day off, thanks to Tyehtyeh, but not me.” She shook her head. “Nooo, I’m a Sergeant now, with ‘field experience,’” she said, with air quotes. “Since I happened to be free for the afternoon, I got pulled into another planning meeting for the field exercise we’re doing at the end of the week.” She shook her head. “Normally, these things are all planned out weeks in advance, but now we’re trying to cram that all into a few days … Ugh!” she scrubbed her face again, heaving a sigh. “What about you? How was your afternoon?”

Rinn sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Probably not much better.” His ears twitched, and he shook his head, letting them flop around. “More testing with metering artifices more precise and capable than mine will be required to know his exact power, but between myself, the Duke, and the other nobles, we were able to determine that Tyehtyeh is a savant, and one of the most powerful to ever live. There are two, maybe three other savants alive who are more powerful than him, and those not by much.” He scrunched his snout. “And he has the education of a quillhog farmer!”

Bradford laughed. “Sounds like someone’s a little pissed off that their spot as the top artificer has been stolen by an uneducated bumpkin.”

“I’m not pissed off!” Rinn snapped. “Not about that, anyway,” he sighed, tugging at a horn. “It’s just- I’ve taught Tyehtyeh a hundred times more in the last few weeks than anyone else has ever taught him. Almost everything he knows, he learned on his own!He’s not just a savant, he’s not just one of the most powerful savants to ever live. I have to admit, he’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, really?” Bradford asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yes!” Rinn rolled his ears. “Now, of course, he doesn’t act like it at all, not in the least, because he has the education of a quillhog farmer! But instead of a bumbling idiot who can barely figure out which end of his pike to point at the enemy, he taught himself how to do magic from scratch, using a bare handful of spells he was shown as an example, and a few concepts he overheard in conversation.”

“Damn,” Bradford said, shaking her head. “Imagine what he could do if someone taught him.”

Rinn vigorously nodded his head, eyes wide and ears up. “That’s exactly what we just saw today! And if he had a proper education …” He shook his head. “The Duke has written his father and the King, and the nobles are of two minds about what to do with Tyehtyeh. On the one hand, he should be sent to a university, trained and educated. In time, he might become the most powerful savant in Ganlin history!”

“On the other hand, he’s useful now?”

“Yes.” He sighed. “The education he should get would take years, when he is already a powerful battlefield savant, and we are in desperate need of every advantage in the war.”

“So, what are they going to do with him?”

“I don’t know. The Duke has a lot of influence to sway that decision, but it will not be made by him. That is for his father, Lord General Yangri, and the King to decide.” He sighed. “Until that decision is made, I will be continuing my tutelage of Tyehtyeh, and the other artificers will provide selections of well-designed spell structures for him to study and master.”

“Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to worry about tomorrow,” she said as he opened the door to their barracks and waved her in. “It’s late enough as it is.”

“Indeed,” he said, following her through the door. His ears twitched as they approached the bunk room. Bradford could here muffled shouts and laughter coming from inside.

Glancing at Rinn, who gave her a smirking flick of an ear, she opened the door. The room fell to immediate silence as it swung open, the bright light of the hallway casting a sharp outline into the dimmed room.

Inside, every other member of Second Squad was wearing assorted styles and colors of masks made out of duct tape. The diversity of styles included cut-out or molded eye holes, teeth, full cheek guards, bikers goggles, a medieval doctor’s beak, mohawks, and more. Holding a wild medley of cardboard-and-duct-tape melee weapons, they were clad in little else besides a chaotic mix of speedos, diapers, vests, and/or a few get-ups that looked suspiciously like pleasure harnesses, all made from a rainbow of duct tape.

In the dim light and resounding hush, they all turned to stare at the door.

Bradford slowly cast her gaze across them as she looked from one side of the room to the other, the Marines all frozen and staring at her in silence, before she quietly backed out and shut the door.

“We’re going somewhere else for a while,” she said, still staring at the door she firmly held shut.

Rinn’s ears, held straight up, swiveled to point behind him. “That … That sounds like an excellent idea.”

“Yeah …” she said, releasing the door and pulling herself away. She looked at Rinn. “Anyone ever show you how to play Xbox?”

“I can’t say that I have,” he said as she pointedly ignored what sounded like Kawalski’s muted shouting behind the door.

“Sounds like a great time to learn,” she said as muffled chaos exploded behind the door. She turned and headed towards the common room. “C’mon, I’ll teach you how to play Call of Duty, and we can see what other games they managed to snag. I haven’t had time to play anything since they set the system up.”

***

Rinn fidgeted as Echo Company formed up outside their barracks complex. First Sergeant Khatri had found out about his cadence project. He was nervous because he expected to be called on to lead the whole company through his new cadence.

He was also nervous because he was the one who told First Sergeant Khatri about it the night before. That’s why he had run into Bradford on the way back to the barracks. He gave a silent prayer to all the gods above and all the gods below that the squad wouldn’t find out.

“Company! Atten-hut!” Rinn snapped to attention with the other Marines as Khatri marched out in front of them. “Marines! It has come to my attention that one of our augments has been undertaking a little, cross-cultural project, translating a Ganlin marching song into a Marine Corps cadence. Is this true, Second Artificer Ahyat?”

Rinn had to struggle to keep his ears from plastering back against his skull. “Yes, First Sergeant!”

“And it is my understanding that it is in a workable state. Is this true, Second Artificer Ahyat?”

Rinn hesitated. He swore he could hear a pin drop. “Yes, First Sergeant!”

“Outstanding! Now, as you all know, I take great pride and joy in a proper marching cadence, and to hear this warms my heart.” He clutched a hand to his chest for emphasis. “The deep, sub-cockle regions of it. Second Artificer Ahyat, you will be leading us in this cadence today!”

“Yes, First Sergeant!”

With the closest Rinn had ever seen Khatri come to a smile, the First Sergeant made a crisp about face and saluted Captain Spader. “The company is formed and ready, sir!”

“Very well. Get them moving, First Sergeant.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Khatri pivoted and marched to his place in the column. “Company! Forward! March!”

Feet crunched on gravel and packed dirt as Echo Company stepped off. Khatri called out a basic cadence as he turned their column out of their little assembly area, what the Marines had started calling the grinder.

“Ahyat!” Khatri shouted as the last of the Marines snaked onto the road. “Sound off!”

Rinn cleared his throat. “Yipe! Yipe! Yegh!” he shouted, the corners of his mouth twitching as the Marines echoed back the nonsense sounds. Here we go, he thought, taking a deep breath.

“I left my heart in San’Riiaaaaa!” he called out in English. His t’s were still a little soft, and he still dragged out his vowels a bit longer than he should, but his accent was clear.

“I LEFT MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAAA!” The Marines echoed back, and he could hear the surprise in their voices. He smiled and called the next line.

“I left my heart to heeed the caaaall!”

“I LEFT MY HEART TO HEEED THE CAAAALL!” The Marines’ voices were stronger, more certain, adapting quickly.

“I left my heart to shield her theerre!”

“I LEFT MY HEART TO SHIELD HER THEERRE!”

“I left my heart to goo to waaaar!”

“I LEFT MY HEART TO GO TO WAAAAR!”

“Chorus!” he shouted, before taking another breath.

“We carry on the looong campaaaign!
We steel our hearts and maaarch aloooong!
To keep the war awaay from hooome!
We raise our pikes and neeever yieeeld!
Til we’ve freed the yoke from all Gahlaaa!”

He closed his eyes for a beat. My throat is going to be sore when this is all done, but I’m not going to bungle it. Another breath, and he shouted again.

“I found my boots in Rotiyiiiin!”

“I FOUND MY BOOTS IN ROTIYIIIN!”

“I learned to march in formatioon!”

“I LEARNED TO MARCH IN FORMATIOON!”

“In line and square and in colummn!”

“IN LINE AND SQUARE AND IN COLUMMN!”

“To bear my heart in San’Riiaa!”

“TO BEAR MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAA!”

This time, a few Marines joined in on the long notes of the chorus.

“We carry on the looong campaaaign!
We steel our hearts and maaarch aloooong!
To keep the war awaay from hooome!
We raise our pikes and neeever yieeeld!
‘Til we’ve freed the yoke from all Gahlaaa!”

A few more had joined before the chorus had finished.

“I donned my armor in Toiyooo!”

“I DONNED MY ARMOR IN TOIYOOO!”

“I wrapped myself in clooth and steeeel!”

“I WRAPPED MYSELF IN CLOOTH AND STEEEEL!”

“Re-enforced with maail and speeell!”

“RE-ENFORCED WITH MAAIL AND SPEEELL!”

“To shield my heart in San’Riiaaa!”

“TO SHIELD MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAA!”

Marine voices started to overpower his as he drove into the chorus once more.

“We carry on the looong campaaaign!
We steel our hearts and maaarch aloooong!
To keep the war awaay from hooome!
We raise our pikes and neeever yieeeld!
‘Til we’ve freed the yoke from all Gahlaaa!”

“I grabbed my pike in Mol’Raiii!”

“I GRABBED MY PIKE IN MOL’RAIII!”

“Enchanted bright and shaarp of biiite!”

“ENCHANTED BRIGHT AND SHAARP OF BIIITE!”

“I lift it up and hoold it hiiigh!”

“I LIFT IT UP AND HOOLD IT HIIIGH!”

“To guard my heart in San’Riiaaa!”

“TO GUARD MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAA!”

The Marines had picked up the chorus this time, and he could barely hear his own voice over theirs.

“We carry on the looong campaaaign!
We steel our hearts and maaarch aloooong!
To keep the war awaay from hooome!
We raise our pikes and neeever yieeeld!
‘Til we’ve freed the yoke from all Gahlaaa!”

“I earned my strips in Riiun Paaass!”

“Blood stripes!” someone shouted in the brief gap before the rest of the company echoed back.

“I EARNED MY STRIPS IN RIIUN PAAASS!”

“At Koilay, Bruhl, and Sai’Li’Unnn!”

“AT KOILAY, BRUHL, AND SAI’LI’UNNN!”

“In blood and fire I baattle throuuuugh!”

“IN BLOOD AND FIRE I BAATTLE THROUUUUGH!”

“To win my heart in San’Riiaaa!”

“TO WIN MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAA!”

This time the Marines beat him to the chorus, and he straightened in pride as voice was drowned out by a company two hundred strong.

“WE CARRY ON THE LOOONG CAMPAAAIGN!
WE STEEL OUR HEARTS AND MAAARCH ALOOOONG!
TO KEEP THE WAR AWAAY FROM HOOOME!
WE RAISE OUR PIKES AND NEEEVER YIEEELD!
‘TIL WE’VE FREED THE YOKE FROM ALL GAHLAAA!”

“I yearn to see my heaarth and hooome!”

“I YEARN TO SEE MY HEAARTH AND HOOOME!”

“Family, friends, and soomeone mooore!”

“FAMILY, FRIENDS, AND SOOMEONE MOOORE!”

“I promise one day too retuuurn!”

“I PROMISE ONE DAY TOO RETUUURN!”

“To see my heart in San’Riiaaa!”

“TO SEE MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAA!”

“WE CARRY ON THE LOOONG CAMPAAAIGN!
WE STEEL OUR HEARTS AND MAAARCH ALOOOONG!
TO KEEP THE WAR AWAAY FROM HOOOME!
WE RAISE OUR PIKES AND NEEEVER YIEEELD!
‘TIL WE’VE FREED THE YOKE FROM ALL GAHLAAA!”

“I left my heart in San’Riiaaaaa!”

“I LEFT MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAAA!”

“I left my heart to heeed the caaaall!”

“I LEFT MY HEART TO HEEED THE CAAAALL!”

“I left my heart to shield her theerre!”

“I LEFT MY HEART TO SHIELD HER THEERRE!”

“I left my heart to go to waaaar!”

“I LEFT MY HEART TO GO TO WAAAAR!”

He held the last note to signal the end of the cadence. The Marines copied the long note, and it trailed off as they made the final turn, approaching the rest of the battalion’s formation. The First Sergeant timed that well … he thought, but felt one last call was needed. “Royal Host, Never Yield! Two-Five!”

“RETREAT, HELL!”

“Company! Halt!”

*****

“Guh, my head feels like mush,” Bradford said, trying to rub the ache out of her temples as they trudged into the gym. “I swear to god, if I have to go to one more strategy seminar or training planning session, my brains will all ooze out of my head and have to be mopped up off the floor …”

“Don’t worry, Jabs,” Edison said, tapping her arm. “We’ve got your favorite activity to make up for it: Picking up heavy things and putting them back down.”

“Damn straight!” she laughed.

“Raaawwwgh!” Edison said, flexing his arms in front of him. “She-Hulk STRONG!”

Laughing, she gave him a shove hard enough to send him staggering off to the side. “Stronger than you, pencil-arms.”

“Why do we keep having to sit through all these seminars, anyway?” Kimber asked. “We’re Marines. You don’t put us in classrooms. You give us a gun, and point us at whatever you need destroyed.”

“It’s to figure out how to train the next guys,” Bradford said, stepping over to a weight bench. “Got my spot?” Rinn and Edison paired up by a couple of benches by the dumbbell rack nearby while the rest of the squad dispersed through the gym.

“Sure,” Kimber said, stepping over to the weight rack. “How much to start?”

“Fifty on the bar to warm up a bit, then up from there.”

“Cool,” he said, grabbing a weight. “And what do you mean, figure out how to train the next guys?”

“The next guys,” she said, locking a weight on her side of the bar, then settling down on the bench. “The next group of Marines and Artificers, or Soldiers and Artificers, or whoever the fuck else gets sent through this program.” She took a grip on the bar as Kimber moved into position at the head of the bench, and with barely a grunt she heaved it off the rack and started doing reps.

“When did we get put into a program?” Kimber asked.

“We’re not in a … program,” Bradford grunted out between reps. “We’re … pathfinding it. The training program … that integrates artificers and the U.S. military.”

After several reps, she shoved the bar back up on the racks and stood up, wiping sweat off with a towel as she switched places with Kimber.

“You think they’re making this a program?” Kimber asked, heaving the bar off the rack and starting his own set of reps.

“Fuck yeah, they are. No putting that cat back in the bag. We’re just kind of the pilot, fumbling our way through, figuring shit out for the people that’ll come next.”

“Hadn’t really thought of that,” Kimber said, putting the bar back up on the rack after his set.

Bradford snorted as she grabbed more weight for the bar. “You’re a Marine. You don’t get paid to think. Good thing, too,” she winked at him.

“Damn straight!” he laughed, locking a matching weight on the other side of the bar and moving back to the spotter position.

Their conversation tapered mostly to insults and encouragement as they added more weight with each set.

They were just locking another set of weights on the bar when Kawalski called over. “Kimber! We need you! Gomer thinks he’s the wrestling champion!”

Kimber glanced back at Bradford, but Edison spoke up. “Go ahead, man, I’ll spot for her.”

“Ha!” Bradford snorted. “Spotter needs to be able to at least help lift the weight that’s being benched, and that ain’t happening with your pencil arms, and I could probably bench Ahyat for reps.” She glanced at him. “No offense.”

He shook his head with a dismissive ear flick. “None taken.”

“Ha, I bet you could!” Edison said.

“Kimber!”

“I can’t, man! Jabs is gonna bench Shields!”

“What?”

“Jabs is gonna bench Shields!”

Bradford laughed, glancing at a bewildered Rinn.

“Man, I gotta see this,” Elder said, elbowing his way to the front of the crowd that spontaneously formed around the weight bench. It felt like half of Echo Company was there.

“Hey, how many reps you bet she can do with him?” Kawalski asked, hustling the crowd even as it formed.

Bradford looked at Rinn again as a pair of Marines lifted the bar out of the way. He was shoved towards the bench, and his ears drooped in defeat.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not benching him.”

“But, Jabs-“ Kimber said, before she interrupted him.

“Dude. He’s, what, one ten?” She raised an eyebrow at Rinn. “One fifteen, soaking wet, with a brick in your pocket?” He shrugged his ears, flicking the end of his tail at her. “I just repped one thirty,” she said, pointing her thumb at the bar, “And upped it to one forty-five. I’ve got nothing to prove by benching Ahyat.”

“Aw, c’mon, Jabs,” Kawalski said. “It’s not about provin’ nothin’, it’s about bein’ funny!”

“I said no, Kawalski.”

He opened his mouth to argue again, and she narrowed her eyes into an icy glare. She saw a switch flip in his whole demeanor as he shut his mouth and nodded. “Aye, Sergeant.” He turned and waived at the other Marines as he walked away. “Alright, you heard the Sergeant, no fun to be had here today! Go fuck back off to your own bullshit. Oh, and Kimber, Gomer says he can whip your ass with an arm-bar sleeper in ten seconds or less!”

“What, that’s not even … Goddamnit.” Kimber turned to chase after Kawalski. “That dumb boot don’t know shit!”

Bradford watched the crowd disperse, then turned to Rinn and Edison, the only two still left nearby. “So, I guess we’re all doing curls, then.”

“Yeah, I guess so …” Edison said, sitting back down on his bench before the implied insult clicked. “Oh,” he scoffed. “Fuck you!”

Bradford laughed, giving him a wink as she grabbed a couple dumbbells and joined Rinn on the other end of his bench. He flicked a grateful ear at her, briefly touching her shoulder with his tail. She winked back.

*****

“Hey, where’s our lovebirds?” Kawalski asked, walking out of the head. Davies frowned at him over his Switch.

“Oh, god, dude,” Sampson said, waving his hand in front of his face as the door swung shut. His rack was right next to the head door. “Did you just shit out a dead animal? Light a fucking candle or something.”

“Ain’t nothin’ that destroys a shitter better than an MRE on the way out,” Kawalski said with a proud smile. “But seriously, though, where’s Jabs and Shields? I’ve got some more matchmakin’ planned.”

“Jabs is at a briefing,” Dubois said, checking gear in his pack.

“At this hour? Dude, it’s like, twenty hundred!”

“Yep. She wasn’t any happier than you are about it. But we’ve got that exercise tomorrow, and all the planning’s been crunched into way too little time for it.”

“Yeah, it’s a fucking shit show, from what I’ve heard,” Kimber chimed in, rolling up sets of freshly-washed socks.

“What about Shields? I’ve been strategerizin’ some one-on-one match-makin’ tactics for him I could use, instead.”

Edison glanced at him over his tools, but decided to let the word mangling slide. “He’s at his nightly tutor session with Tyehtyeh. They got extended now that he’s a savant.”

“Well fuck,” Kawalski said, dropping down on the rack across from Edison. “There goes my plans for the evenin’.” He sighed, and waved at the half-disassembled Go-Pro. “Any luck with saving the ol' gal?”

Edison sighed and set his tools down, shaking his head. “I’m afraid not. The camera is straight fucked. It technically works, but it only shows half the image, half the screen is cracked, and the camera lens itself is cacked. I can’t fix it, and I don’t think I can get any kind of replacement parts for it. We’ll have to get a new one.”

“RIP GoPro …” Stephens said, frowning.

“Man, I really thought you could save it …” Kawalski said, leaning forward to give it a closer look.

“Yeah, I thought I was going to, but the sensor behind the lens is just fucked. But!” he held up a finger. “BUT! I did manage to get it to power up again! And the onboard memory is still good!”

“Oooo! You got the fight?”

“I got the fight!” Elder grinned, spinning his laptop around. “And a few other videos. Whatever was left on the camera.”

“Oh, sweet!”

“Yeah, I already got ‘em on my laptop! Here, let me show you.” He twisted around, dragging his open laptop off his rack and turning it so Kawalski and the others could see. He was quickly surrounded by the rest of the squad.

“Ha, you got the barracks party before the portal opened!”

“And the mad scramble after the portal opened!”

“Well, all thirty seconds you were able to film …”

“Hey, what’s this one?”

“Which one?”

“This one, here. That timestamp is after the battle.”

“Huh. I dunno. Let’s find out.” Edison clicked on the video and it started playing. There was the sound of rustling and shouting, and what little of the video that wasn’t garbled spun around for a moment before jerking to a stop with a muffled thunk.

“Go with them and make sure they don’t get into too much trouble,” they heard Bradford say.

“Aye, Jabs,” Dubois said. There was another thunk and rustle, shifting the camera again. Two people-like shapes could be seen. As silence fell, the camera slowly struggled to bring the image into focus. It blurred and unblurred in fits and starts, before finally settling on something that was mostly in focus. Rinn and Bradford could be seen in the background.

“Why do you tolerate him and his insubordination?” Rinn asked. There was an occasional crackle, and he was slightly muffled, but otherwise clear.

Bradford laughed. “Kawalski is a complete, balls-to-the-wall motard. Motivated Retard …”

Kawalski frowned and put on a blank face as Bradford talked about him, and his past, then apologized to Rinn for bringing up “Recent memories.”

He brushed it off, then Bradford put a hand on his shoulder. “You can talk to me about it, if you need to. I don’t know if it works the same way for keshmin, but for humans, at least, talking about it usually helps.”

Rinn locked up. Even in the mangled, poorly-focused video, they could see him go rigid. He stuttered, then whined. He stared into space for a long moment, then whispered, “My home is gone.”

Kawalski growled. “Turn it off.”

“What?” Edison paused the video.

“I said turn it off. That’s not for us to see.”

“But …”

“No. Delete it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Delete it. If Shields wants to talk about that shit with us, he’ll talk about it with us. Otherwise, its private. Between him and Jabs only. Delete it, and not a fucking word about it to either of them, got it? Forget you ever fucking saw it.”

“Jeeze, alright, man, message received,” Edison said, dragging the video file to his recycling bin, then emptying it.

“I’ll make sure the rest of these aren’t corrupted or anything, then get them uploaded to the cloud.”

“Cool,” Kawalski said, gripping his shoulder as the squad dispersed. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem, man.” Kawalski nodded and headed towards the door. “Who’s up for some Black Ops?” Several chorused an affirmative, and the crowd moved to the building’s common area.

***

That evening, when the rest of the squad had gone to participate in or watch Kawalski’s impromptu “train of pain” Call of Duty tournament, Davies slipped back into the bunk room. Snagging the GoPro, he stepped over to his own rack and pulled out a small notebook. Plugging the camera in, he powered everything up, and a few moments later, copied the newest video to a special folder buried deep on his hard drive.

*****

This is my third trip to Earth … Rinn thought, looking out the side door of the helicopter. They had passed high over endless tracks of what Rinn would consider city sprawl, with the ocean in view from that height, but now they were flying low over mountains and forests.

Several other helicopters and ospreys flew in formation with them. It wasn’t nearly as many as had carried the entire battalion in his first trip in a helicopter, most of the battalion would be driving in on a ground assault, but every squad with an artificer assigned was participating in the air assault on their target.

Riding in a self-propelled carriage isn’t much different than riding in a regular carriage, he thought as the helicopter banked and “left” became “down.” This, though … This takes some getting used to.

They approached their landing zone, and the pilot brought them in for a quick but surprisingly gentle landing. Marines started shouting, and everyone bailed out, weapons up, sweeping the perimeter as they quick-stepped away from the whirling contraption that brought them there. Rinn moved right with them, stave at the ready.

As soon as they were clear, their helicopter lifted off, quickly replaced by an Osprey, disgorging more Marines and a somewhat-disheveled artificer. Yenyed staggered over to Rinn and dropped to his knees as their squads linked up with each other. He quirked an ear at him. “First time?”

Yenyed flicked his ears and made a rude gesture at him. “These people are all crazy.” He glanced at Rinn. “And I think they’re rubbing off on you.”

Rinn laughed and offered his old friend a hand as the Marines began heading out. “Come on, we’re on the move.”

“Already? But we just got here!”

“But we’re not where we’re going yet.”

Yenyed grumbled as he hauled himself to his feet. “It’s just like the Royal Host. ‘Hurry up, go here! No, nevermind, get over here now. No, no, forget all that, we want you all the way over there now! Why aren’t you there, yet?’”

Giving Yenyed a pat on the back, Rinn laughed as he walked away. “That’s why they run!”

“In all this kit? Gods above …”

An hour later, they were climbing into Humvees and other armored carriages, linking up with the rest of the battalion. They raced to several different points, piling out and back in each time, sometimes engaging in ‘skirmishes.’ It was all make-believe, but the gunshots were real, sort of. The Marines had fitted plugs on the end of their barrels, and were shooting blank rounds, all powder and no bullet.

The first time they were piling back into the vehicles, Tyehtyeh mis-stepped and fell into the back of an LAV, clanging his head against the upper door frame. Growling in pain, he staggered back from the vehicle, clutching at his head, and nearly brought the whole exercise to a halt.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he insisted when two corpsmen rushed over to check him out. “Took it on the horn! It’s what they’re meant for!” He reached up and tugged at his left horn, flinched, and immediately switched to giving his right horn a good hard tug and a slap.

The corpsmen insisted on checking him for concussion, but eventually gave him a clean bill of health, and he joined the rest of his squad in the back of the LAV.

Their recon-in-force exercise ended with all the artificers being sent forward to an advanced position, where they took turns spotting for and calling in artillery strikes. It was a crash course that mostly had them reading scripts, but by the end Rinn felt confident that he understood the basic concept and the litany. I’m not confident that I’ll be able to remember it to any useful degree in the future, but hopefully they’ll give us a few refreshers.

After their artillery exercise, they helped set up a mock FOB. This was real practice for what they would be doing once the counter-offensive began, and Rinn found it interesting for that reason alone, though it involved a lot of digging and filling sandbags.

Their mock FOB constructed, and a cold MRE in his belly, Rinn collapsed in a hole with the rest of the Marines. He was exhausted, he had a rock in his ear, and Kimber’s elbow was digging into one of his livers, but it was comfortable enough. He was out three seconds after his head hit the ground.

Another three seconds later, he was shaken awake. “Ahyat,” a Marine he didn’t recognize whispered. “It’s zero two thirty. Briefing’s in fifteen, outside the platoon tent.” Wondering where the last five hours went, and why they had slept in “fighting holes” instead of the tent, he crawled out of the dugout, giving Kimber a kick to make sure he was awake.

Walking up to the tent, Rinn almost tripped over the other Marines crouched there, it was so dark. There was no moon, and only the stars for light. He looked up at them. They didn’t look strange at first glance, but the more he looked, the more he noticed the absence of familiar constellations.

“Shields, down here!” someone whispered. He looked down, then crouched down to join the other Marines. A poncho was thrown over his head, and he found himself in an awkward huddle with a dozen Marines. A red light clicked on, and everyone shifted, trying to see the map Bradford was holding.

“Alright,” she said. “We’re here. Damnit, here, Sampson, hold the fucking light.”

“Aye, Sergeant.”

“Ah, fuck, that’s my hand!”

“Sorry,” Gomez said as the whole huddle shifted.

“Hey, lock it up! Pay the fuck attention,” Bradford whispered. “We’re here,” Bradford tapped the map. “After we shelled the shit out of them, the bad guys have moved to a new position and set up in a compound to the North. They’ve dug in pretty good up there. We’re prepping an assault on that base, but before we hit them, we have to take out a forward outpost they have set up here.” She tapped the map. “Mostly dug-in infantry, with mortars and AT, maybe a technical or two.”

She traced a path from their position, below their target, and around. “Orders are to slip around them to the south, and come at them from the East at dawn. We’ll come over this ridge here with the sun at our backs, at close range, and tear them a new asshole. With any luck, we’ll catch them with their pants down.”

She took a breath. “The shitty part is that it’s a two-and-a-half-hour hike, and we’ve got three hours to be there. No lights, no radios until we go hot. Any questions?”

There were a few muttered words, but nobody had anything to ask. “Alright,” Bradford snapped the light off and stood up. “Last chance for a piss break. We move out in ten.”

***

The world is green … There’s a limerick about this, I know there is … Rinn had been shown night vision goggles before, but this was the first time he had been given a set of his own. The green tint of everything is weird, and they throw off my sense of depth perception, but above and below, they work! This changes so many things!

His fascination with the goggles was almost enough to overcome the exhaustive pace the humans were setting. Almost. They had been on the march for over two hours now, and he felt like he had scrambled over half the planet. I’m used to long marches, but gods above, this is terrible!

The Marine ahead of him crouched, holding up a hand, and Rinn eased himself to his knees, panting hard. Bradford came into view. “We’re almost there,” she whispered. “Five minute break. Hydrate, catch your breath. We’re sneaking the rest of the way.”

Rinn nodded, pulling out his canteen to guzzle water. The break ended all too quickly, though, and he had to stow his canteen again. They were on the move.

They were slow and careful in their movements, and they crawled the last hundred yards. Finally, in the dim gray light of predawn, they were in position. As the sky grew lighter, he took off his night vision goggles and carefully stowed them. They had become a prized possession, but they would be of little use now.

Creeping up to the very edge of the ridge, he waited. And waited. Glancing down the line, his peripheral vision was stabbed by the sun’s edge cresting the horizon. Flinching away from the glare, he saw Bradford and several other Marines with grenade launchers push themselves up to a kneeling position in response to relayed hand signals.

“Hit ‘em!” Captain Spader called, immediately followed by a stuttering thu-thu-thump! As several grenade launchers went off. The rounds dropped into the enemy camp, and immediately began spewing smoke. Several machine guns opened up, pouring into the outpost, though any destruction was purely imaginary.

“Shields!” Spader called, and Rinn brought his shield up, doing his part. Two other shield screens went up, and then the Marines were all up and moving. They surged forward, laying down fire as they advanced under the magical screens until they found cover twenty yards closer. There, they all ducked down while the machine guns laid down fire, and three other artificers put up shields while Rinn and the first three focused on offensives. It’s all stunblasts, so nothing’s blowing up or catching on fire, but it’s still an impressive display.

The outpost stood fifty yards from the edge of the ridge, and they covered the remaining distance in two more bounds. Nearly a hundred Marines swept through the camp, quickly neutralizing any remaining threats and declaring it clear.

Not that there was anyone actually here, he thought. Almost everything we’ve been ‘shooting’ at has been imaginary.

“Hey, LT!” one of the Marines from Yenyed’s platoon called out. “We found something funny over here. Looks like-“ He was cut off by a loud pop as paint splattered all over him and his buddies. “Fuck!”

Something zipped past Rinn, and little splotches of paint popped up on the wall and all over the Marine standing next to him. “Gah, fuck!” Kimber said, ducking for cover.

“AMBUSH!”

Rinn threw up a shield, a few seconds too late for Kimber, as a dozen more simrounds splashed apart in mid-air. Marines dove for cover and began returning fire.

“Are you fucking shitting me?” Kawalski said. “We’ve got blanks, and they’ve got fucking sim rounds? How is this fucking fair? How are we supposed to fucking fight this?”

“Life’s not fair!” Bradford shouted, lobbing a smoke grenade in the general direction of the enemy fire, before ducking down as a spray of sim rounds splattered into the shield in front of her. “Suck it the fuck up and find a way to win, anyway!”

“Contact rear!” someone shouted as more sim rounds came zipping in from the ridge they had just assaulted from, splashing against another shield.

“Captain Spader! Captain Spader!” Bradford shouted, waving the officer over. Moving up with a corporal in tow, he slid into cover with them.

“Sergeant Bradford,” he said, “Why aren’t your men shooting back?”

Bradford opened her mouth to speak, then frowned. She rolled over to look at the rest of the squad. “What the fuck are you waiting for? Light ‘em up!”

Kawalski looked at her, then shrugged. He hefted his SAW and popped up from cover. “FUCKING GET SOME YOU FUCKING PUSSIES!” He shouted something more, but whatever it was, Rinn couldn’t hear it over his gun.

Following Kawalski’s example, the rest of the squad leaned out from cover and began returning fire, albeit in a more controlled manner. Soon, the whole camp was lit up with gunfire.

“That’s more like it, Sergeant!” Spader nodded, then looked out from the camp as more sim rounds splashed against the shield. “It’s still a fuck show, though. They’ve got us boxed in on all sides.”

Bradford smiled. “Sounds like we can attack in any direction, sir!”

Spader looked at her and nodded. “What’s the best way to get out of an ambush, Sergeant?”

“Fight through it, sir!” she said with a grin.

“Excellent. Well, there’s some cover over on the western edge of the camp, and that’s where our exfil was supposed to be, so take your men over there and punch us a hole the fuck out of here!”

“Aye aye, sir!” Bradford nodded. She glanced over at the western edge of the camp, then turned to Second Squad. “Up and at ‘em, boys! We’re heading west! Leapfrog to the dumpsters. Kawalski, Miller, Gomez, you’re up!”

“Covering fire!” Spader shouted as the three men stacked up. The squad lit up a concentrated barrage, and Rinn extended his shield to cover them as far as he could.

“Dubois, Kimber, Stephens, Elder, you’re next!”

The next twenty minutes were filled with moving and shooting as Second Squad ‘punched a hole’ in the enemy line, allowing the mixed elements of Second Battalion to break out of the ambush at the camp. Rinn was reminded that sim rounds still hurt like hell when a pair of enemy shooters popped up unexpectedly. He swung his shield to block them effectively, but didn’t pay enough care to keeping them covered from the main force chasing them.

The pursuit tapered off as they managed to find a good cover position and dug in, then the keshmin all got to take turns calling in air strikes on their pursuers. The actual target zones were a mile away and in the wrong direction, but they got the basics across and it was all good fun.

An hour later, and they were ‘rescued’ by the rest of Second Battalion, along with a platoon of tanks. Rinn got to ride on one, and they even managed to find some time for him to pose for a few pictures.

By lunch time, they were assaulting the enemy stronghold, after peppering it with air strikes and long-range fire from the tanks. As they approached the compound, they all dismounted and stacked up behind the Abrams, using it as cover as they moved in. Rinn and the other artificers put up shields for even further protection, and in almost no time, the compound was secure. The Marines got to kick in a bunch of doors and spray blanks in the faces of a bunch of manikins, and everyone had a good time.

***

“Well, that wraps that up,” Bradford said, slinging her rifle over her shoulder as she returned to Second Squad. “We are officially FINEX.”

“Sweet!” Stephens said, then looked around. “Uh … Dude, where’s our ride?”

“Yeah, they weren’t expecting us to walkback to Tolkien, where they?” Dubois asked.

“Maybe we’re supposed to hitchhike,” Sampson suggested.

“Well,” Bradford said. “We actually finished up a little early. They weren’t expecting us to be done for another hour or so. And I heard the LT talking to Captain Spader, apparently there was a mix-up on when the trucks were supposed to come pick us up, they don’t even have drivers ready to come get us yet.”

“Well, fuck, I can drive!” Kawalski said.

“Well, if you want to hump your ass over to the motor pool and grab a truck, go right ahead.”

“Eh, I didn’t want to drive, anyway.”

“So how long is it going to be before our rides get here?” Edison asked.

“Probably an hour, maybe two.”

“Hurry up and wait, aye,” he said.

“Yep.” She nodded. “I do have some good news, though.”

“Let me guess, we’re getting deployed,” Gomez said.

“No. We’re already deployed. And this is actually good news,” she smiled. “First, the big USO show on the 4th is confirmed.” She paused as that elicited a few cheers. “Second, us, that Javelin squad we played with from Weapons Company, and a squad from Foxtrot Company are getting to go on liberty in the keshmin town of Tyenyai, about five klicks north of the portal on Sunday.”

“What?”

“No fuckin’ way!”

“Ah, fuck yeah!”

“Hey, Shields, do they got a brothel?”

“Don’t answer that question,” Bradford sighed, rubbing her face.

Rinn just sighed with her, rolling his ears.

“We’ve got a liberty brief at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow. Don’t be late! And don’t fuck this up! We’re the first Marines going on liberty on Ganlin soil. You fuck this up, you fuck it up for everyone.”

“Don’t worry, Jabs, ol’ Kawalski’s got this squared away,” Kawalski said, giving her a two-finger salute.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about, Kawalski,” she deadpanned. “Just don’t fuck this for everyone else, and don’t be late to the briefing.”

“Dunno, Sergeant, it’s gonna be kinda hard to show up on time if our fuckin’ ride never shows the fuck up!” He waved his hands dramatically at the road that was distinctly empty of vehicles.

“Oh, quit you’re bitching, you’re sounding like Davies,” Kimber said, giving Kawalski a shove.

“Hey, I take offense to that!” Davies said.

“Fuck that, I take offense to that!” Kawalski shouted, turning to tackle Kimber. “You take that back!”

“Make me, bitch!” They both fell to the ground, tussling.

“Gomer!” Kawalski shouted as Kimber rolled on top of him. “Sick ‘im!”

Bradford sighed, pinching her nose. They weren’t the only Marines who had started wrestling around, and she could see an all-out brawl simmering to a boil as pumped-up Marines started to get bored. “Fuck …” she sighed, then stepped forward to give both Kimber and Kawalski a kick. “Hey, all of you guys, listen up!”

***

“OHH!” the crowd of Marines shouted as Sampson went flying. He rolled and came back up on his feet, immediately charging for another grapple.

The corporal from Weapons Company he was squaring off against was ready for him, though, and Sampson went flying again. He landed poorly this time, and just laid in the dirt for several seconds, the wind knocked out of him.

“We have a winner!” Kawalski cried, holding up the victorious Marine’s hand. The crowd cheered.

“This was a pretty good idea, Bradford,” Rickles said, stepping up beside her to watch the next match.

“Thanks, Staff Sergeant,” she said, shrugging. “But it just seemed like the obvious thing. They were bored and wrestling around, anyway. Might as well give it some structure and get them practicing MCMAP. They’re less likely to hurt themselves, and they get some training value out of it.”

The crowd cheered as the sparring Marines both ended up in the dirt and a new winner was declared.

“Sometimes even the most obvious thing to do doesn’t happen until someone takes the initiative and makes it happen,” Rickles said. “And what’s obvious in hindsight isn’t always obvious at the time.” The Marines cheered again as a crowd favorite stepped back into the makeshift ring. “Though this has been more of a spectacle than a training opportunity for almost an hour, now.”

Bradford shrugged. “They’re still occupied and out of trouble, Staff Sergeant.”

He snorted a laugh. “Fair enough.” The crowd roared as their favorite was defeated in a big upset, then cheered the victor as Kawalski egged them on. Rickles frowned. “Gotta ask, though, why did you make Kawalski a ref?”

She shrugged again. “Keeps him busy and out of trouble, and plays to his ego and need for attention, so he’ll want to keep doing it.” She waved at the cheering crowd. “And he’s good at keeping everyone’s attention.”

Rickles gave her an appraising glance. “You know it would work out this well?”

“Absolutely fucking not, Staff Sergeant.”

He shook his head, slapping her on the back. “Next time, just say yes, Sergeant.” He smirked, and walked away.

“Yes, Staff Sergeant,” she said, watching him go. A part of her kicked herself for saying something wrong. With a small sigh and shake of her head, she put it out of her mind. I’m just tired. It’s been a long, busy week. She glanced over her shoulder at the still-empty road. Hopefully our ride back to base will be here, soon, she thought, before stepping forward to get a better look at the next match.

“And who will challenge our latest champion, the mighty Corporal Shamus?” Kawalski demanded of the crowd.

“I will!” Tyehtyeh shouted, raising his hand. He cleared his throat, putting on a deeper voice. “I’ll take him on!”

“And a surprise challenger from the keshmin corner stands against the Fighting Irish!” The crowd cheered, and a few Marines from Tyehtyeh’s squad gave him encouraging pats on the back. His ears perked up in surprise, and the first smile of true confidence Bradford had seen from him crept across his face.

“You all know the rules! First to three tosses or to pin the other for three seconds wins!” he said as the two combatants squared off against each other. “No cheating!” He wagged a finger at Tyehtyeh, who wagged an ear back, an excited smile on his face. “Alright, contestants! Ready!” He put on his best Mortal Kombat voice. “FIGHT!”

Shamus moved first, but Tyehtyeh was ready for him. With a quick step and twist of his hips, he sent the larger Marine tumbling before he could get a good grapple.

“And Tyehtyeh takes a surprise lead with the first point!” Kawalski cried as the crowd cheered, each combatant’s squadmates calling out encouragements and insults.

They squared off again. “Round two! FIGHT!”

Shamus came in with more caution this time, and it was Tyehtyeh who made the first move. They grappled, and Tyehtyeh tried to jerk Shamus off his feet, but ended up thrown himself.

“The Fighting Irish drives in with a strong comeback!” Kawalski cried, eliciting more cheers from the crowd.

Tyehtyeh dusted himself off and settled back into a fighting stance across from Shamus, a determined set to his ears. “Round three! FIGHT!”

Human and keshmin held still, like gunfighters at high noon. With a twitch of movement, they both jumped at each other. They grappled, but neither could get a good hold. A mutual twist in the same direction sent them both to the ground.

“OOH!” the crowd cried as they rolled in the dirt. Shamus ended up on top. Bradford could see his hold clearly wasn’t very good, but he had a massive weight advantage, and was using it.

“Is this it for our challenger?” Kawalski cried. “He’s at one! Two-“

Flicking his tail up, Tyehtyeh wrapped it around Shamus’ face and pulled back on his head. The force wasn’t that great, but it was something the Marine hadn’t expected. He reached up on instinct, releasing his hold on one of Tyehtyeh’s arms. With a shove and twist of his hips, the keshmin sized the moment and threw Shamus off, practically slithering out from under him and popping to his feet. Caught by surprise and off balance, Shamus was left sprawled in the dirt.

“Oh!” Kawalski shouted as the crowd went wild. “Snatched from the jaws of defeat, Tyehtyeh takes the lead!”

They reset, Tyehtyeh grinning like a devil while Shamus gave him a determined glare.

“Two to one!” Kawalski shouted. “Is this their final round? Round four! FIGHT!”

Bulling forward, Shamus was obviously banking hard on his weight advantage. But Tyehtyeh dropped low, driving his head and shoulder into the Marine’s stomach, and hooking an arm between his legs.

They grappled. Shamus had greater strength, but Tyehtyeh had gained the leverage. Stepping in, he destabilized the Marine’s stance. Shamus tried to power through, but with a grunt of effort, Tyehtyeh started to tip him backwards.

“OH! Tyehtyeh gets the upper hand! Is this it for the Fighting Irish?” The crowd egged them both on.

Knowing he was losing, Shamus scrabbled for a better grip. Finally, in desperation, he latched onto the keshmin’s left horn, and pulled.

“Agh!” Tyehtyeh growled, trying to resist, but the Marine’s superior strength won out. With a growl of his own, Shamus gave a sharp pull, and as the keshmin’s grip slipped. He twisted his hips and sent him tumbling away with a sharp crack!

Tyehtyeh hit the dirt, rolled, and bounced back to his feet, and silence fell as everyone stared in horror at the horn still clutched in Shamus’ right hand.

“Oh, shit, dude! I’m- Fuck!” he said, his gaze bouncing between Tyehtyeh and the broken horn.

Bradford turned to Tyehtyeh, seeing his ears fold back and his eyes go wide in terror. She looked at the surviving numb of his horn, and was surprised to see what was clearly a button with bits of glue and a broken piece of horn stuck to it. What the fuck, she thought. Her own eyes went wide as it clicked.

Anyo beat her to the punch, however. “She’s a woman!” he cried, pushing through the crowd to point an accusing finger at Tyehtyeh.

Panic lit the savant’s eyes, snapping him out of his shock, followed by magic as his no, her hands lit up, prepping for a fight.

A stun bolt slapped into her chest as Anyo fired his stave from the hip. She staggered back, but her armor had dampened the blow, and she powered through it.

Anyo’s second shot was too much for her, though, and she fell backwards into the Marines behind her. Two men from her squad caught her, keeping her upright, though barely.

A pin dropped, then chaos ensued.

Everyone started shouting as Anyo raised his stave, lining up for a third shot. Before he could fire, Captain Spader bulled him over, tearing the weapon from his hands.

“CORPSMAN!” Kawalski shouted over the din. Two more Marines grabbed Anyo, holding him back as he tried to swing at Spader.

Lord Ayan stepped into the closing circle, a dagger in hand. Seeing the blade, Kawalski moved to intercept him, but the lithe keshmin dodged out of the way, his tail whipping around to maintain balance. Before anyone else could stop him, he deftly cut the bindings on Tyehtyeh’s gambeson, tearing it open, followed by her tunic.

One of the Marines holding Tyehtyeh up grabbed his hand, but Ayan dropped the dagger and pulled away, revealing the bindings and pads Tyehtyeh used to make her chest look flat.

“This is treason! Dishonor!” Anyo screeched, working himself into a fit as he struggled against the Marines holding him. “She’s a traitorous snake!”

“Traitorous snake?” Bradford shouted, anger flaring as the shock wore off. She stepped towards him, her fists balled and ready to strike. “If she’s that, then what the fuck am I?”

The Knight Captain glared at her, but she never got his answer.

“ATTENTION ON DECK!” Barrakis’ voice cut across the rising din. Silence fell as the Marines all straightened.

“Make a hole!” Winters demanded, and the crowd parted. She marched in, Michaels, Barrakis, and Yeshai not far behind her. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Tyehtyeh is a fraud!” Anyo said, shrugging off the Marines who had been holding him. “A disgraceful woman, deceiving and dishonoring us all!”

Bradford took a step towards Anyo as two more men from Tyehtyeh’s squad stepped forward to defend her.

“As you were, Marines!” Winters snapped, fixing them with an icy glare. They all froze, and she turned to fix Anyo with a look as frigid as her name. She stared at him a long moment in silence before speaking. “She pretended to be something she wasn’t so that she could fight for her country. I’d hardly call that treasonous, certainly not given that she’s the most powerful artificer that you’ve ever seen, in your own words.”

Anyo’s ears twitched and spasmed. He opened his mouth, looking ready to fly into an apoplectic fit.

“Enough, Knight Captain!” Yeshai shouted. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself!”

His ears flew up in surprise, then swept back against his skull as his jaw snapped shut. He lowered his head, but still shook as he visibly seethed.

Winters turned to Tyehtyeh, glancing her up and down. The effect of the stun blasts seemed to have worn off, but she sagged in total defeat now that her ruse had been exposed. “Who are you, really?” Winters asked.

“Siya Yahgi, m’l- ma’am,” she said, her ears hanging listlessly on either side of her head, her eyes not lifting from the dirt. Without any false baritone, her voice was soft and clear. She probably has a good singing voice, Bradford thought, randomly.

“And why go through all this?” Winters asked, waving at her horns and outfit.

“Cause my pa’d beat me any time he saw me doin’ magic. Said it weren’t for girls. And there weren’t nobody around who would teach a girl magic, not even in secret, except maybe some healin’ bits, and I weren’t no good at that.” She looked up at Winters, her eyes wet and heavy with defeat, but edged with a defiant anger. “And I wanted to get back at the elves for killin’ my big brother.”

Winters studied her for a moment, then nodded. She glanced at the two corpsmen standing by at the edge of the crowd. “Take her to the medivac vehicle and get her checked out, then take her to Medical back on Tolkien for a full examination.” She waved at the last two Marines who stepped forward to defend Tyehtyeh. “You two go with them.” She turned to face HM2 Olanrewaju specifically. “And let Medical know that I have questions.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Olanrewaju said, then turned to Siya. “This way, please.”

Winters turned to Michaels as the six of them shuffled away. He gave her a slight nod, and she marched off after them as a column of vehicles rumbled over the nearby ridge.

Shaking his head, the Lieutenant Colonel looked to Barrakis. “Sergeant Major, get them loaded in the trucks and back to base.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Barrakis nodded, then started snapping out orders. Marines jumped into action left and right.

“Captain Spader,” Michaels said. “You’re with me. I want your report on what just happened.”

“Aye, sir,” Spader said, following his CO as he turned and walked away.

Later, sitting in the back of a truck on the way to Tolkien, Bradford turned to Rinn. “What do you think is going to happen to her?”

“I don’t know, Jabs,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

She nodded, resuming their silent ride back to base. She couldn’t help but note that his ears were low, though, and he did not look optimistic at all.

*****

Spirits were mixed the next morning as they filed into a conference room in another hastily-constructed building for their liberty brief. Excitement for their liberty pass the next day, and the USO show scheduled for that night, was still heavily tempered by the somber mood that had reigned since the end of the previous day’s exercise.

“Any word on Tyehtye- er, ah, Yahgi?” Bradford asked, sitting down next to the squad from Foxtrot Company.

“Not much,” their Squad Leader, Sergeant Zickerman said. “They kept her overnight at Medical, under guard. There’s a big investigation that kicked off yesterday on how she fooled everyone, and if anyone knew.”

“Did you guys know?” Kawalski asked.

“Nah, man,” Corporal Helsinki shook his head. “She wasn’t attached to our squad, so we didn’t work with her as much, but talking to the guys who did, they had no clue.” He shrugged. “I mean, there’s a lot of shit that’s pretty fuckin’ obvious, in hindsight, but at the time we just figured, ‘weird alien,’ mixed with some homo denial.”

“Whadaya think’s gonna happen to her?” Gomez asked.

“Not a fucking clue,” Zickerman said. “But those noble types seem pretty spun up over the whole thing.”

“Yeah, Prissy McFuckface seemed ready to hang her on the spot,” Kawalski said.

Bradford frowned. She despised Lord Anyo, as well, but … “Lock that shit up, Kawalski. Like him or not, he’s still an officer.”

“Aye, Sergeant,” he said, giving her a sour look.

“I overheard our LT talking to Captain Brown and the First Sergeant,” a young-looking PFC by the name of Williams said. “They think there’s a good chance we’ll keep her if they try to deep six her.”

“Wouldn’t that be a clusterfuck?” Davies said.

“It already is,” Dubois said with a half-hearted chuckle.

“Shh, teacher’s here,” Kawalski said as the door opened and Sergeant Major Barrakis walked in.

“Alright, devil dogs, listen up!” They all straightened and gave the Sergeant Major their undivided attention, though some might have just been good at putting on a convincing show.

The brief itself went about as Bradford expected, and much like every other liberty brief she’d attended. Barrakis was big on “treating people like adults until they show they’re not,” but he made it painfully clear that there would be an extra hammer or twenty hanging over their heads, ready to drop on them if they fucked this one up.

“Remember,” he said, wrapping up the briefing. “You’re all acting as ambassadors of the United States and the US Marine Corps. Liberty is a mission. Execute it well. Oorah?”

“Oorah!” they all echoed back.

“Your ride leaves promptly at 0930. You’ll get your coin pouches then. Anyone who’s late will get left behind. Your pick-up is at 2000. Anyone who’s late will have to explain themselves to me, is that understood?”

“Yes, Sergeant Major!”

“Enjoy yourselves out there, Marines, you deserve it. Do us proud. Dismissed.”

Filing out of the conference room, Kawalski tapped Bradford and Rinn. “Hey, we got a couple hours before the USO Show kicks off, we’re all gonna head over to the MCX and pick up some shit to trade. Whatever coinage they’re giving us for this ain’t gonna be much, and there’s a bunch of shit we think of as stupid-common, everyday bullshit that some keshmin trader’ll pay a fortune for!” He nodded at Rinn. “We need your help with pickin’ out some good shit to barter.”

Bradford eyed Kawalski, slightly torn. Normally, she would avoid his schemes whenever possible, but this time … He’s not wrong … And I was hoping to get some good souvenirs. Fuck it. “Lead the way, Corporal,” she said, waving him in front of her.

An hour later, and they were walking out of the MCX with bags full of such things as ball point pens, notebooks, cheap watches, reams of printer paper, flashlights and batteries, pencils, pocket mirrors, and more. Common accoutrements of a modern, industrial society that a medieval civilization with magic would have never seen before, and would pay good money to have.

***

“What is USO?” Rinn asked as they found an empty spot to sit in front of the stage.

“United Service Organizations. It’s a non-profit organization,” Bradford said, sitting down and waving at Stephens and Davies in the row behind them. “They put on shows and do a bunch of morale-boosting shit for deployed troops, and a bunch of other stuff for military members back home, too.”

“Ah,” he said, looking back and forth between his chilidog and his giant puff of blue cotton candy, snuffling at both.

She smiled as she watched him try and decide which to eat first, carefully snagging her own cotton candy stick between her knees so she could eat her hotdog. There’s nothing but carnival food here, but we’re all a bunch of big, dumb kids, really, and carnival food makes people happy, which is kinda the whole point of it all.

Following Bradford’s example, Rinn shifted his focus to his chilidog, and promptly made a mess of his fur as he scarfed down the overloaded dog. She reached into her pocket to pull out a bunch of napkins she had grabbed for this very purpose, and tossed them at him.

Licking his fingers and as much of his face clean as he could, he snatched up several napkins to finish the job.

Eating her own, much-more-reasonably-loaded dog at a much more sensible pace, she grinned in anticipation as he picked up his cotton candy. He gave it a careful lick, then a small nibble. His ears shot up, and yup, gone in two bites or less.

She laughed as he gleefully chewed on the rapidly-dissolving mass of spun sugar, then inspected the paper tube it came on for more. That is, until he stopped and turned to look at her and her food with puppy dog eyes.

“Mm! No!” she said, scooching around to put her back to him and keep her food out of his reach. “Ish mine!” She had to shift both her remaining hotdog and cotton candy to one hand and stretch it out of his reach as he tried to climb over her back to get it. “Fkn’ no!” she said, managing to chew her last bite enough to swallow.

Rinn’s antics tapered off, though, as the people around them started to laugh. He sat back down, his ears swung back, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone around them.

“See?” she said, turning back to him and stuffing the entire remaining third of her hotdog in her mouth. “Ur emb’rs’ng urslf!”

His ears shot back up, and he slapped both hands over his snout as he snorted in laughter, triggering a hiccough.

Bradford chewed and managed to swallow her oversized bite, and gave him a mock-serious glare. “See, that’s why you shouldn’t eat so fast. You can’t savor it, you’ll make yourself sick, and now you don’t have anything to eat during the show.” She waved at the stage, where the band was expected to come out at any minute.

He rolled his ears and stuck his tongue out at her.

She laughed and took a bite of her cotton candy, making a point of savoring it.

He whined and gave her the puppy dog eyes again, this time laying it on heavy.

He had his own, I’m not gonna … his ears swept low against his skull, making him look pathetic. God damnit! She sighed. “Fine. You can have some of mine. But just a little!”

“Thanks!” he said, his ears flitting up with a smile. He reached over and pulled off a small piece and popped it in his mouth, savoring the sweetness.

“Ass,” she said, before taking another bite.

He bopped her on the head with his tail.

“Still an ass.”

The band finally came out, some big-name country star. Bradford had never heard of him, she wasn’t a fan of modern country, but the music was still pretty decent in her opinion, and a lot of the crowd went wild for him.

After several sets, he swapped out for a comedian who had the whole crowd rolling on the deck. Rinn struggled with a lot of the references, but the laughter was contagious and he was usually chuckling and giggling along with Bradford, even if he clearly didn’t always get the joke.

At the end of the comedy show, the event switched to canned music, all of the patriotic variety. They went to get more food, and find out where the rest of the squad was going to sit for the upcoming fireworks show.

“Bradford! Ahyat!” Staff Sergeant Rickles called out as they were perusing the concession stalls. “There the fuck you are! Been looking for you half the fucking evening!”

Uh-oh … Bradford thought, turning to Rickles. “What’s up, Staff Sergeant?”

“First Sergeant wants you both over by the stage, before the next event, which is …” he glanced at his watch. “In ten fucking minutes. Get your asses moving!”

“Aye, Staff Sergeant,” Bradford said, exchanging a frown with Rinn. What the fuck is this about? They both shrugged and started making their way towards the stage.

“Just stand by there,” one of the corporals on the event staff said when they arrived, pointing them to an open corner next to the stage.

With another shrug, Bradford and Rinn walked over to stand by in the designated spot. A few minutes ticked by as the show wrapped up and cleared off the stage. It was some slapstick stunt routine that started after they left to get more food, and Bradford would have regretted missing it if she wasn’t worried about what they had been called over for.

Rinn gave her an ear flick, catching her eye. He raised an eyebrow, his tail twitching at the stage where the Second Battalion triad had appeared. She shrugged, giving him a ‘no idea’ face in return.

“Now, before we get on to the next event, we have something a little more serious to do,” Khatri said, his voice amplified across the field by the microphone he was holding. “We have some outstanding warfighters to recognize. Sergeant Jamie Bradford, Second Artificer Rinn Ahyat, front and center!”

With a breath, Bradford stepped forward, marching up the steps and onto the stage. Rinn was close on her heels, following her example. Clearing the curtains and bunting at the edge of the stage, she saw the position of her Battalion CO, XO, and First Sergeant, along with the battalion Adjutant who held a pair of distinctive folders. This looks like … oh, fuck, it is …

Shifting to a formal marching pace, she came to a halt in front of Colonel Michaels and turned to face him, her back to the crowd, standing at attention.

“Hand salute,” Barrakis said, and she snapped her hand up in a crisp forty-five degree angle. Rinn snapped his right hand to his chest and bowed at a precise thirty-degree angle. Michaels returned the salute. “Two!” She dropped her salute and Rinn straightened. “About face!”

Bradford put the tip of her right foot behind her left heel and pivoted, executing a decently precise maneuver. Rinn lagged just a fraction behind her. He copied me, she noted. The Ganlin version has them turn to the left.

“Attention to award!” Barrakis called out, and several thousand Marines, Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen snapped to attention before them.

Winters cleared her throat. “To all who shall see these presents, greetings!”

“GREETINGS!” thousands of voices echoed back.

“This is to certify that the President of the United States of America, authorized by Act of Congress July Ninth, Nineteen Eighteen, has awarded The Silver Star to Sergeant Jamie Alice Bradford, United States Marine Corps, for services set forth in the following citation:”

WHAT?! Her eyes went wide, and she had to struggle to maintain her composure as Colonel Michaels stepped in front of her, pinning the medal on her chest.

“For conspicuous gallantry while serving as a member of Second Squad, First Platoon, Echo Company, Second Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment on Nine June, Two Thousand Twenty. While taking fire from elven heavy artillery, Sergeant Bradford’s swift and timely action in applying first aid and calling in medivac saved the lives of several fellow Marines. Following the revelation of a large elven force in position to ambush the rest of her battalion, and separating her beleaguered squad from the same, Sergeant Bradford immediately and without hesitation engaged the overwhelming enemy force, while simultaneously calling in an airstrike on elven troops that were not more than one hundred yards from her own position. Sergeant Bradford’s actions saved the lives of her entire battalion, reflect great credit upon herself, and are in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.”

Michaels handed her a folder with the embossed certificate with his left hand, holding out his right. She took the certificate and his hand on automatic. I thought liberty in a Ganlin town was the surprise the LT was talking about …

“Signed, for the President, Darryl C. Withers, Secretary of the Navy, July Fourth, Two Thousand Twenty.”

Someone whistled out in the crowd as Bradford heard a page flip behind her.

“To all who shall see these presents, greetings!”

“GREETINGS!” the crowd thundered back.

“This is to certify that the President of the United States of America, authorized by Act of Congress July Ninth, Nineteen Eighteen, has awarded The Silver Star to Second Artificer Rinn Ahyat, Ganlin Royal Host, for services set forth in the following citation:”

Michaels stepped over to Rinn, a fresh medal in his hand. He was as rigid as a statue, but his ears were angled just a bit too far apart. He’s just as surprised as I am.

“For conspicuous gallantry while serving as a member of Third Column, First Square, Nineth Regiment on Nine June, Two Thousand Twenty. Despite the near total loss or route of his own unit, and out of ammunition for his artifice stave, Second Artificer Ahyat continued to hold a rearguard action against overwhelming elven forces. After being reinforced by Marines from Second Battalion, Second Artificer Ahyat was the only Ganlin soldier to advance alongside Marines in the US counter attack. Under fire from heavy artillery, he recognized telltale signs of an elven ambush and, using a replacement stave acquired on the battlefield, disrupted their invisibility field. Despite being greatly outnumbered and in an exposed position, he continued to engage the elven forces alongside several Marines, and shielded them from elven fire long enough for them to call in an air strike on the elven forces. Second Artificer Ahyat’s actions saved the lives of an entire Marine battalion, reflect great credit upon himself, and are in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.”

Michaels held out a certificate and a hand to Rinn, and it took him a moment to realize what to do. The handshake was a little awkward, halfway between the human and keshmin versions, but Bradford doubted anyone noticed.

Signed, for the President, Darryl C. Withers, Secretary of the Navy, July Fourth, Two Thousand Twenty.”

Michaels stepped back, and applause thundered over them. She held herself at rigid attention, too stunned to do anything else. A silver fucking star? I was just doing my job! What needed done! And Rinn got one, too. How many have been given out to non-US military? That’s gotta be fucking rare …

“About face!” Barrakis called as the applause tapered off. Bradford pivoted around, noting in her peripheral vision that Rinn had defaulted back to the Ganlin version when he spun back around. “Hand salute!”

“Congratulations, Sergeant, Second Artificer,” Michaels said as he returned their salute.

“Two! Fallout!”

“Thank you, sir,” she said quietly as they both pivoted to the left and marched off the stage.

Out of the limelight, Rinn looked down at his new medal, then spun around to look at Bradford, a question written across his face and ears. “What does this mean?”

“It’s our third-highest award for valor,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder and gently guiding him away from the stage. She was as stunned by it all as he was, but explaining it to him gave her a task to accomplish, and that helped. “The only two awards above it are the Navy Cross, or the other branches’ version of it, and the Medal of Honor, which is awarded by the President, on behalf of Congress.” She frowned. “A lot of the people who win that one are awarded it posthumously.”

“I see,” he said, carefully examining the medal.

“Does the Royal Host do medals?”

“Yes,” he said, still examining his star.

“How many have you earned?”

He looked up from the medal and frowned, one ear cocking down the other half up. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Maybe if I really thought about it, I could probably tell you, but I’m not really sure.” He sighed. “There was a lot of pagentry with awarding them, at the start of the war. Then it just kind of became a thing that got mentioned.” He flicked an ear. “One of my square’s adjutants insisted on documenting them all, even long after we all stopped caring about them, and made a point of informing each of us if we had earned one.” He snorted. “I think it was his way of denying that we were losing the war, or maintaining hope. If the medals were important, that meant we would be alive after the war to wear them.”

“Hey Jabs! Shields!” Edison called out. “Over here!”

Turning, they quickly found and met up with him, Dubois, and Miller. “Congratulations on the award, both of you,” Dubois said, shaking both their hands.

“Yeah, congrats! A Silver Star, that’s so awesome!” Edison stepped up to shake their hands as well. Miller just gave them each a nod.

They both shrugged. “We were just doing our jobs, Edison. You were there, too.”

“Yeah, but you guys were more badass about it!” he grinned. “And if they gave you a Silver Star for that, that’s nothing compared to the fight at the-“

He was interrupted by Dubois placing a hand on his shoulder. “That’s not why we tracked them down.”

“Oh, right!” Edison said, bouncing up and down.

How much caffeine has he had?

“First,” he said, holding up a finger, “Kawalski’s found us a sweet spot to watch the fireworks from! Over on the western side of the field.” He held up another finger. “And second, look what the cat dragged in!” He stepped aside, and a familiar figure hobbled up on crutches, his left leg in a cast.

“Gutierrez!” Bradford shouted with a grin. “Holy shit! What the fuck are you doing here!”

“I snuck in,” he said, holding out a hand to shake. “Maybe with a dash of old-fashioned bribery.”

Bradford took his hand, then pulled him into a hug. “How the fuck are you doing, Sergeant? Last I heard, they were sewing your leg back on!”

“Well, they did,” he said, waving down at his leg. “They even managed to not put it on backwards, though I think it might be a little crooked.” He grinned as they all laughed.

“How long until you’re up and about without the extra set of legs?”

“Well,” he scratched his chin. “I’ve got surgery in a couple weeks, and maybe another one after that, depends on how the first one goes, then they figure I’ve got six months of physical therapy ‘till I can get by without a cane most days. At that point, though, I’ll be transferred to First Civ Div.”

“What?” Bradford said. “You’re not coming back? But we’ve still got the whole war to fight!”

“And I’m out of it. I’ll be able to walk fine again, and maybe even kinda run most days, but it ain’t good as new, and you can’t go to war on a bum leg.”

“Well, fuck.” She sighed.

“I’m still fighting the med sep, but it’s not lookin’ good.” He shook his head, then shrugged. “Maybe it’ll finally give me time to teach the old lady how to dance!”

Bradford laughed. “Gucci, you couldn’t dance before your leg got shot off.”

“Yeah, but now all that toe-stepping will just keep me on level footing!” He winked.

She snorted, and they all chuckled.

As the laughter tapered off, Gutierrez looked at the others. “Hey, can you guys give me and Jabs here a moment alone? Sergeants only.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dubois said. “C’mon, Shields, Kawalski wanted to make sure you got a good view of the fireworks.”

“It was good seeing you again, Ahyat,” Gutierrez said. “If you ever find yourself back on Earth, look me up, we’ll get a beer.” He held out his hand. “And congratulations on the Silver Star. From what I’ve heard through the grape vine, you deserve it.” He glanced at Bradford. “You both do.”

“Thank you,” Rinn said, shaking his hand. “I’ll take you up on that beer, when this is all over.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Jabs, we’re over at the western edge of the arena area, on the other side of the tents,” Dubois said. “Kawalski’s already got a bunch of drinks and snacks set up, too. I’m pretty sure he picked the spot out and set it up ahead of time.”

Bradford nodded. “Knowing him, he probably did. I’ll meet you there.” She waved as they walked away, then turned back to Gutierrez.

“I wanted to thank you, Jabs,” he said. “I talked to the docs about what happened,” he added when she tilted her head. “I’d’ve bled to death out there if not for you. You saved my life.”

She shook her head. “I just did what we were all trained to do.”

“Yeah, but you did it, and I’m alive because of it. I still owe you my life.”

He reached over and tapped the bulge in her pocket where she had stowed her Silver Star. “You deserve that. You saved me, you saved all of us that day. Don’t let it go to your head, but don’t get too humble about it, either.”

She shifted awkwardly, knowing on some level that what he said was true, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable with it.

“We’re all war heroes now,” he said. “But you’ve still got more war heroing to do.”

“I wish you were coming along.”

“Nah, you don’t need me,” he waved. “I’m kinda fat, and lazy, and you’re already ten times the Marine I could ever be. Follow your training, and listen to your instincts. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Bradford. Fucking use it.” He glanced down at his watch. “Shit.” He frowned. “I wasn’t joking when I said I snuck in here. I gotta get back, or I’ll get in real trouble if Marjorie finds out.” He gave her a smile. “She’ll take my other leg off and beat me with it!”

“You better get back, then; you definitely can’t run from her now.” Bradford said, laughing at the image of his five-foot-nothing wife chasing him around their house. “And send her my love.”

“Will do. You know she sends hers.” He straightened. “It’s your squad now, Sergeant Bradford. They’re your men. Take care of them. Keep them alive. And kill some Keebler bastards for me!”

“Will fucking do,” she said.

“Good,” he said with a nod, and started hobbling away.

Bradford paused, watching him go. “Sergeant Gutierrez!” she called, popping to attention as he turned back. She snapped a crisp salute. “It’s been an honor.”

Shifting both crutches to his left hand, he stood at attention and returned the salute. “Oorah!”

Bradford dropped her salute. “Two-Five.”

“Retreat, Hell!” he said, dropping his hand smartly. He took up his crutches again and resumed hobbling away. “Give ‘em hell, Jabs,” he called over his shoulder.

“Aye, aye, Sergeant,” she whispered as watched him disappear into the crowd. When he was gone, she took a deep breath, and turned to go find the rest of the squad.

Following Dubois’ instructions, she made her way to the western edge of the arena, and past the tents that had been set up there. The sun had set a while ago, and there wasn’t a whole lot of light over here. I wonder if I’d be better served to go fetch a set of NVGs …

“Psst! Hey, Jabs! Up here!”

She stopped and looked up, spotting Kimber waving at her from the top of a shipping container. She looked around, and he pointed at a stack of crates and wire spools at one end of it.

A moment later, she was poking her head over the top of the glorified metal crate, where she found the rest of the squad. “Are you guys supposed to be up here?”

“Nah,” Kawalksi said, waving at her from his lawn chair. “But it’s the best seat in the house to see the fireworks. Now get your ass up here, Shields saved you a seat.”

Bradford finished the climb up and squeezed in next to Rinn. Their seat was an old wool blanket that might have been Vietnam War surplus, with a big, folded up tarp as a backrest, but it was comfortable enough.

Settling in, she looked over the rest of the squad, Gutierrez’s words echoing in her mind as the fireworks started. It’s your squad now. They’re your men. Take care of them. Keep them alive.

“I’ll do my best,” she whispered.

“What was that, Jabs?” Kimber asked.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head.

“Hey! They’re starting!” Kawalski said.

With a soft thump, a glowing trail of sparks shot into the sky, and burst into a bright flash that almost immediately thumped her chest. Damn, we’re close. These are good seats!

“Popcorn?” Rinn asked, tilting his bag towards her, an ear cocked in her direction.

“Of course,” she said, snagging a handful and popping it into her mouth. Another concussive flair followed the first, then the whole sky lit up. Leaning back, she smiled up at the sky, enjoying the show. I’ll do more than my best, she amended her previous statement. I’ll just fucking do.

Episode 15.5

“What kinds of food do you eat?”

“The kind that is food.” Tyriel stared at the disgusting animal across from him. I hate talking to this beast … And I hate that I have nothing better to do …

“Do you eat fruits? Vegetables? Red meat? Fish?”

Tyriel wrinkled his nose in disgust. Of course, they have more than one word for meat. “We do not eat flesh.”

John nodded, making a note on his writing pad. “Do you grow crops?”

“We eat what Gahla provides us.” He leaned back in his chair, the chains linking his manacles to the floor clinking softly.

“Can you be more specific? We would like to ensure we’re providing you with adequate nutrition. Do you eat fruit? Vegetables? Nuts, berries? Mushrooms? Tubers? Greens?”

“… Yes.”

“Do you have any food allergies?”

Tyriel frowned. “… I don’t understand the question.”

“Is there anything that could cause some sort of anaphylactic shock or other adverse reaction if you eat it?” John looked up from his notepad. “It is not uncommon for humans to have allergic reactions to peanuts or shellfish, ranging from mild irritation or hives to full-blown anaphylaxis and death. I know that you won’t have any way of knowing how you will react to Earth foods, but if there is anything specific on Gahla you’re allergic to, we can test it to make sure we’re not giving you anything from Earth that contains a similar allergen.”

Tyriel blinked. “I … No, I do not. What a bizarre problem to have.”

John nodded, scribbling something else in his notepad.

“Is there anything specific that you have cultural or religious aversions to eating?”

Tyriel raised an eyebrow at him. “I do not understand the question.”

John set his pen down, meeting Tyriel’s eyes. “We want to respect your beliefs as much as we can. There are some things that we won’t be able to do, but making sure that we don’t serve you anything that you have a cultural or religious taboo against eating is one thing we can do to accommodate your faith or culture.”

Such primitive, backwards people … “The only thing we have an aversion to eating is the flesh of creatures. We are not animals.”

With a nod, John made another note on his paper. “What about products produced by animals, like milk or cheese?”

Tyriel gave him a disgusted look. “No.”

“How do you normally prepare your food?”

He rolled his eyes and sneered down his nose at the human. “You could not appreciate, or even comprehend the range and variety of food we create.”

John simply met his gaze. “Can you give me some examples?”

His lip twitching slightly as he held the sneer, Tyriel kept his eyes locked with John’s, his contempt plain on his face. The human returned nothing but neutral curiosity, however, while Tyriel’s eyes slowly narrowed.

After a long moment of silence, he sighed, dismissively looking away. “I doubt you could come close to mimicking the appropriate seasonings and spices, never mind correctly preparing anything but the most basic dishes.”

“Do you cook anything, or do you have any other preparation methods?”

He rolled his eyes. “Some fruits and vegetables are commonly eaten as they grow, or prepared without cooking. Others are served roasted, boiled, fried, sauteed, or prepared a thousand other ways.”

“Do you have a favorite food or dish?”

“No.”

John set his pen down, folding his hands together and looking Tyriel in the eye. “Do you want to talk about last night?”

“No.”

“We want you to be comfortable here, but we can’t allow you to have your blankets back if that is what you are going to do with them. Why did you try to hang yourself?”

“Because I am held by animals.”

“If that were the case you would have tried to hang yourself with them the first night we gave them to you.” John shook his head. “Tyriel, you’re much too smart to have taken this long to have come up with that idea. What prompted this?”

“The boredom is interminable.”

John picked up a pen and made a note in his pad. “What would you normally do to occupy yourself?”

Silence sat between them for a moment. Tyriel’s lip twitched. “I would enter a dreamscape.”

“Is this like a daydream?”

Tyriel grunted, giving John a smirk full of disdain. “It is hardly so primitive.”

“And what makes it more advanced than a daydream?”

“Comparing a flight of fancy to a dreamscape is like comparing a rock to a mountain.”

“What is this dreamscape like?”

“Whatever I wish it to be, limited by imagination and memory.”

“Why can’t you enter a dreamscape?”

Tyriel leaned forward. “What are you doing to block mana?”

“You need mana to create a dreamscape?” John asked, giving him nothing more than a slightly raised eyebrow.

Tyriel leaned back in his chair. “Mana is the foundation of everything.”

John made another note in his tablet. “What do you use the dreamscape for?”

“For entertainment when surrounded by animals.”

“Just entertainment?” John looked up from his notepad. “Do you use it for anything else?”

“I use it to live in a world free of pestering animals.”

John wrote a long line in his notepad, then glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid we’re out of time for today.” He closed his notepad and stood up. “We’ll continue tomorrow.” He turned and walked out of the room.

Tyriel sat alone in silence for several minutes, as usual, though this time seemed to be longer than average before the guards came in and took him back to his cell.

Returned to his single-room prison, Tyriel sat down on the thin mattress atop his bed, crossing his legs underneath him, and sought to center himself.

He had only just begun to fade out his awareness of his cell when the slat at the bottom of the door opened and a tray was slid inside. It wasn’t just shoved through like usual, though the door slid shut with the normal vehemence.

Unfolding his legs, Tyriel stood and walked over to the tray. There was more food than his last meal, and unlike his previous meals, it was comprised of whole and sliced vegetables. Or maybe fruits … I don’t recognize any of these …

Curious, he picked up the tray, and was surprised to find some of the divided sections were warm. Mouth watering at the prospect of actual cooked food, he quickly turned and sat down on his bunk and started picking through the meal.

He was cautious at first, John’s questions about ‘allergies’ on his mind, but quickly tossed his caution aside. He was slowed only by the conflict of filling an underfed stomach and savoring food with actual flavor.

“This is basic … A collection of food items, no proper dish …” He scooped a spoonful of roasted tubers with light seasoning into his mouth and chewed in appreciation. It doesn’t compare to a proper elven meal, but it actually tastes good. “Or maybe it’s just the lack of flavor for so long,” he muttered after swallowing.

All too soon, the tray was empty. His palette wasn’t fully satisfied, but his belly didn’t feel half empty. He stood, and pondered whether he should feel satisfied with the meal, or disgusted as he walked to his sink. The thought that his meal had been prepared by animals turned his stomach a little, but not enough that he wasn’t happy to have better sustenance.

He turned on the sink and rinsed the food residue off his tray and utensils, then drank his fill of water before walking over to the door. The bin had opened shortly after he picked up his meal, and closed moments after he returned his tray. He snorted, remembering the first time that had changed. He had scrambled to shove as much food down his own throat before the screeching noise started, only for the bin to be left open for five minutes after he returned the tray.

Returning to his bunk, Tyriel sat down, folded his legs under him, and resumed his meditation. He still couldn’t reach the dream state, and doubted he would be able find a connection even if magic wasn’t being suppressed.

However, as he strained against the void of mana in his mind, he found something interesting.

And what is this … The ambient mana of the universe was thoroughly suppressed; his greatest efforts to draw mana out had so far failed. But the suppression isn’t absolute.Carefully, gently, he explored the faintest trace of magic slipping through whatever they had blocking it.

It was not much, barely even a trickle, and it took him days of meditation to even find it, but it was there.

Mana.

Tamping down his excitement, he delicately reached out and slowly began to siphon off and collect what he could, storing it away. It was not enough to do anything with, he would barely consider it even a trace, and it wouldn’t be anything more for a very long time.

“But I am no stranger to exercising patience …” he muttered.

Episode 16

“So how big is this place, anyway?” Kimber asked, peering over the side rail of the truck as it rumbled and bounced along a road well-built to handle carts and wagons, but not made for heavy military equipment. The front of the truck’s bed was packed with blankets, and Second Squad was crammed in behind them.

“Somewhere around twelve thousand people, before the war,” Rinn said. “Though between the Royal Host, camp followers, and refugees, there are tens of thousands of people in and around the city.”

“A small city, by local standards,” Bradford said, earning herself a narrow-eyed ear-flick from Rinn. She gave him a wink.

“What’s it called again?” Kimber asked.

“Tyenyai.” Rinn said, cocking an ear at him.

Bradford looked askance at Kimber, as well. “Weren’t you paying attention at the brief?”

“Gonna be honest with you, Jabs,” Kimber said, glancing back. “I kinda tuned out everything between ‘Listen up, Devil Dogs,’ and ‘You’re all ambassadors.’”

“… That was the entire brief.”

He shrugged. “Who actually listens to those things, anyway?”

She glared at him.

“Bah, it’s fine,” Kawalski said. “I’ve been talkin’ to some of the guys who’re handin’ out food and humanitarian shit to the refugees, and I’ve got the real dope on this place.”

“Oh, god …”

“So, they’ve got a bit of somethin’ for everyone,” he said, leaning forward. “Place has a reputation for good food, but it’s kinda scarce right now. Anything local’s gonna be expensive, but with the stuff we’ve got to trade, might be worth payin’ for a meal.”

Bradford nodded. Well, that’s actually good information …

“They’ve also got a big, open-air market thing, and a whole district of shops. Supposedly got a pretty nice garden thing that’s kinda famous, and some statues and shit. Good for pictures an’ the like.”

She leaned forward, along with the rest of the Marines. Some of this was in the brief, but they were a bit sparse on local details.

“It’s pretty crowded and packed in spots, but the main market area’s pretty open. The army put up a wall around the place when they moved in a while back, fenced in a huge part of the fields around the town, but they ain’t usin’ most of it.”

“It was supposed to be able to hold most of the Royal Host, serve as a strong point against a siege if the elves pushed across the river,” Rinn said.

“Right,” Kawalski said. “But with their main force out by Williams,” he jerked a thumb back up the road. “They’ve given over a bunch of room to set up refugee camps. Gives ‘em a spot to pitch a tent that ain’t on the city streets, or traipsin’ all over someone’s field or some shit.”

He tapped the stack of blankets he was sitting on. “That’s where most of our guys are at, distributin’ supplies ‘n shit. Also still got a bunch of their army here, too. They’re rallying a lot of the troops ‘at scattered when the elves routed ‘em here, before sending them back up to Williams.” He flipped a hand over in a dismissive wave. “Plus a detachment to garrison the town, help keep order, all that shit.”

The Marines all nodded as Kawalski took out a small vaporizer and took a drag. He exhaled a light, fruity-smelling cloud off to the side. When did he get that back? I thought Staff Sergeant Rickles confiscated it …

“Refugee camps and army barracks ain’t got much to see,” Kawalski continued, his voice a little froggy as he breathed out another hit of vape. “But the market and shops are still boomin’, and most importantly.” He paused for effect. “They’ve got brothels. And they’re totally legal!”

And there it is … Bradford sighed, leaning back in her seat.

Davies frowned at him. “But they’re not human!”

“Hey, man, the parts seem to match up close enough, and any hole’s a goal!” Kawalski grinned. “Besides, at some point, us and them’s gonna fuck, and I wanna be able to say I was the first one to do it!”

“Tyenyai is a major trade city and cultural center.” Rinn sighed. “Their bazaar and shops are famous across the kingdom. It is not Kalyikai, but the Market Festival attracts tens of thousands of people each year, and the Kai’ki’lai gardens are one of the jewels of the Kingdom! There is more to this city than its brothels!”

“Like I said, somethin’ for everyone!” Kawalski grinned.

Rinn flipped his ears back, holding Kawalski’s gaze for a moment, then shook his head and sighed. “I will show you Tyenyai. I’ve been here a few times, even before the war. It is not the heart of Ganlin culture, but it has much to see.”

The truck bounced over a pothole hard enough that Bradford wondered if they hit something. “Hey, watch the shoes, asshole! I just polished them!”

“Watch them, yourself, fuckface, I just polished mine!”

“Why the fuck do we gotta wear our Class A’s, anyway?” Davies asked, tugging at his overly-snug uniform. “Why can’t we just where civvies?”

“Because there’s no hiding the fact that we’re military here, and not much point to it,” Bradford said.

“Yep,” Kawalski said, taking another hit of his vape. Kimber tapped his shoulder and held out a hand and he passed it over. “Brass is usin’ us as an opportunity to show the flag, and all that bullshit.”

“They’re sending in the Marines on liberty to make a good impression?” Sampson asked. “Are they fucking high?”

“Meh, think of it like back in World War Two,” Bradford said with a shrug. “When grunts cycled back from the front lines got to go out in town and schmooze it up with the locals. They went everywhere in uniform.”

The truck bounced again, hard, and everyone had to grab something to keep from being thrown to the floor. “Yeah, but this ain’t the nineteen forties,” Edison said.

“Nah, but it also ain’t durka durka land,” Kawalski said, taking his vape back. “Ain’t no insurgent terrorists, here, just a bunch of refugees.” He grinned. “And plenty of lonely ladies, with all the men off to war.” He tapped Rinn in the chest. “Girls always love a guy in uniform, eh?”

Rinn took a deep breath, his ears swept back, and refused to acknowledge the comment.

“I just want to get something nice for Jenna and Kaylee,” Miller said.

“I wanna try the cuisine,” Edison said. “I’ll try anything once.”

“I’m always down for food,” Davies said.

“I’m always down to fuck,” Gomez said with a proud nod.

“Ugh, no,” Davies said. He glanced at Rinn. “No offense, dude, but I ain’t no fuckin’ furry.”

“I ain’t, either,” Kawalski said. “But I missed out on clappin’ alien cheeks at the run on Area 51, I ain’t gonna miss out here!”

“What is a furry?” Rinn asked, his ear quirked like he was trying to remember something.

“That’s … A long story,” Bradford said.

“I’ll show you when we get back, brah. Picture’s worth a thousand words.” Stephens gave him a smile.

Bradford sighed. That’s not going to end well, but he’s gonna find out eventually …

The truck bounced again, forcing everyone into silence as they all scrambled to stay up right. “Jesus! Who the fuck is driving this thing?” Dubois asked. “He’s even worse than Kawalski!”

“Man, fuck you!”

The truck bounced again. “Hey, has anyone heard any more on what happened to Tyehtyeh? I mean, Yahgi?” Edison asked. “I hope she’s alright.”

“Last I heard, they had her in lock-up while they figured out what to do with her,” Bradford said. “As much for her own protection as anything else,” she added when most of the other Marines frowned at her.

“What’ll happen if she gets sent back?” Dubois asked, looking at Rinn.

His ears sagged. “She’ll face a trial, but it will be purely perfunctory. When it’s done, she’ll probably be executed.”

“What?”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Shit, man, we can’t let that happen!”

“I don’t think we will,” Bradford said, waving down the Marines. “I asked LT about her before we left for the USO Show, strategically timed when Captain Spader was walking by. He didn’t say much, but it sounded like they put her in lock-up more to keep anyone from trying to steal her away than anything else.”

“So, we’re keeping her?” Dubois asked.

“You think the brass is dumb enough to let someone as powerful as she is slip away for no good reason?” Bradford tilted her head, giving him a look out of the corner of her eye.

“… Have you met some of the brass?”

Bradford rolled her eyes. “Your lack of faith in our chain-of-command notwithstanding, they’re not that dumb.”

“Ours are,” Rinn said with a disparaging ear flick.

“Shush, you,” she said, glaring at him.

The truck bounced again, and Bradford felt herself hanging in the air for a moment before they all landed painfully back in their seats.

“Fucking hell, man!”

“Jesus shit fuck, you don’t have to hit every goddamn pothole, asshole!”

Brakes squealed, and the truck slowed to a stop. Bradford stuck her cap back on and poked her head out the back. “We’re finally here!” she sat back down. “We’re in a line to get in the gate.”

“Thank fucking god. I thought we were going to die on that trip.”

“I’ve had smoother rides goin’ over an IED …”

A few minutes later, and their small caravan was waved through the gate. It was a tight fit to get the truck through the gate, but not as tight as Bradford feared. Shortly after passing under the arch, the convoy made a sharp right turn and proceeded into a large village of tents.

They hadn’t gone very far before the brakes squealed again and the trucks came to a stop. “Alright, boys, looks like we’re here,” Bradford said, standing and stretching. “Everyone out, and start passing out these supplies.”

“Ohh, what?”

“We’re on liberty!”

“And they gave us a ride! Plus, it’ll be good to be seen helping with the relief effort.” Bradford hopped down and clapped her hands, holding them out for something to be passed. “Now daisy-chain it up!”

“But mooom …”

“Quit being lazy bitches and get in line, Marine!”

“Ugh …”

“Fiiine …”

Several minutes and a lot of grumbling later, and the trucks were empty. Kawalski even took charge in sorting the supplies into three stacks. “Blankets, camping shit, and medical shit,” he said, pointing at each when Bradford raised an eyebrow.

“Thanks for the help, Sergeant,” Jackson said. “Much appreciated.”

“This all for the refugees?” she asked.

“Mostly,” he said, nodding at the stack of ‘medical shit.’ “The Royal Host has a field hospital set up over in their camp. They’ll be sending a cart over to pick up most of this, though the blankets and other shit is mostly for the refugees. We’d drive it over to them, directly, but the tent streets aren’t the widest or straightest over there, and we’ve gotta get back to base and load up with a fuckwhack of food.” He turned and pointed at a well-guarded pavilion. “See that tent with all the troops around it, over there? That’s where we’ll be at in a few hours, distributing food for the rest of the day. Might be a couple other trucks scattered about to make things easier, but you’ll definitely find us there for your ride back.”

“Have fun with that,” Bradford said, giving him a slap on the back as the rest of her squad gave her an impatient wave. “And don’t work too hard.”

“Never do.”

“Only too obvious!” she called over her shoulder.

“Fuck you!”

“Alright,” she said, joining the squad and giving Rinn a soft punch to the arm. “I’ve got two cents in my pocket, let’s get this tour rolling.”

“First things first, the market,” he said, rubbing his arm before poking her in the back of the head with his tail. She swiped at him, but he danced out of reach.

“Yes, souvenirs!” Sampson cried.

“The Market Festival doesn’t light off for another three months, but Tyenyai’s markets are still famous across Ganlin. You can find most anything there,” he flicked his ears back. “Or, at least, you could before the war. Some things are a bit tight these days, but even before the portal was opened, the markets were still very much active.” He waggled his ears. “Most importantly for today, though, it’s also a great place to sell. I’ll show you some of the right traders to sell all the human gadgets and paraphernalia that you’ve brought. Should get you a fine coin or two for it.”

“Ah, capitalism at its finest!” Kawalski said. “Buyin’ cheap, useless shit in one place, and sellin’ it for a mint somewhere else.”

“The story of our trade with the Khalim’Khali,” Rinn said, chuckling.

The markets were in a large, open field that the city half engulfed. Tents, pavilions, and stalls of various levels of permanence were erected all over the area. The place seemed like it could pack in a lot more, however, even after accounting for several of the more permanent stalls that were empty. This place is probably packed almost shoulder-to-shoulder during their festival, Bradford thought, trying to picture the colorful silks and banners strung about the place that Rinn was describing. It’s bustling enough as it is!

They stopped at several stalls, and while the Marines did a little shopping, they were mostly selling. Not everyone was keen on doing business with the “stocky elves,” and a few gave them suspicious eyes, but many others were happy to see them and talked of them turning the tide in the war. Most were happy to take their goods for coin with a little haggling. Kawalski quickly rediscovered the knack for it, and it didn’t take long before all Rinn had to do was provide introductions and the occasional translation.

They walked out of the market much lighter in goods and heavier in coin, though Bradford and Rinn both held some of their stock in reserve.

The tour of the city wasn’t as grand as the sights in San Diego or San Francisco, but Bradford did enjoy the sculpture garden, and they all had fun taking pictures with various statues. Rinn talked a little bit about the history of the city’s architecture, and how it was one of their first cities to build a true sewer system, but he could tell that the Marines were more interested in exploring the current city than the history lesson.

Bradford felt bad for him, leaning towards him as they rushed back toward the square. “You can tell me all the history you want later, when we’re not shepherding a bunch of toddlers.”

He smirked, flicking an ear at her.

As their tour was quickly finished, Bradford reminded everyone to make sure the peer-to-peer app on their phones was running, and to keep their phones on them. “They haven’t gotten any cell towers set up out here yet, but with this app, we’ll still be able to keep in touch, and let each other know if anything happens.”

“Yes, Mom,” Kawalski said as the squad split into groups, and before they could blink, Bradford and Rinn found themselves partnered up and alone.

Bradford narrowed her eyes after the departed Marines. “They’re up to things they don’t want me to see …” She gave him a sympathetic frown. “Surprised they didn’t bring you along to join their fun, though.”

“Would you let me go off with them unsupervised?” He gave her a sideways glance and cocked an ear at her.

“No …” she said, glancing back at him.

“There you go.” He rolled his ears.

“Ugh …” she sighed. “I hate being the mom sometimes.”

He chuckled. “C’mon, I’ll show you the rest of the gardens, then we can head to the shops.”

She smiled. “At least it’ll be quiet, for a change.” She glanced at her phone, before slipping it into a pocket. “Hopefully.”

*****

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Kimber asked.

“Of course, I do,” Kawalski said, turning smartly down another side street. “I always know where I’m going!” The keshmin they passed in the street gave them a wide berth, staring at them until they rounded the corner.

“Eh …” Gomez scratched his head. “What about that time, a couple weeks before the portal opened, when you were tryin’ ta find that burger joint?”

“Or that time in LA, brah? We never did find that surfer shop …”

“Or when we took that trip to the Grand Canyon?” Kimber asked.

Gomez scratched his head again. “I think I remember ol’ Gucchi tellin’ a few stories about you getting’ lost in Afghanistan, too, Hoss.”

“Bah,” Kawalski said, waving them off. “I always knew exactly where I was at!” He stopped at another corner. The streets here were paved with cobblestones, but they were old. Many were cracked or chipped, and long in need of replacing. “And exactly where I was goin’! Just, sometimes, more important things presented themselves.”

“You mean you got distracted by the first shiny thing we passed by?” Kimber asked.

“Hey!” Kawalski spun around, pointing a finger at him. “You gotta grab any opportunity that pops up! Life’s too short to do anything else.” He turned back around and led them out onto the next street. “Besides, we’re almost there!”

The street they stepped onto was definitely well-trafficked, though it had an almost seedy atmosphere to it. I ain’t gettin’ the feelin’ that anyone would to try to murder us for our shoes here, but it definitely ain’t where the higher-class types would be found. He glanced around. At least, not openly …

They rounded a bend in the street, and he stopped. “There it is, boys,” he said, pointing at the large building ahead of them. It was well-lit, both with lanterns and a few minor spells, what Kawalski took to be the magical equivalent of neon signs. “What we all really came here for.”

“Well, shit, you fuckin’ did find it!” Gomez said.

“Brah …”

“I’d say I never doubted you for a minute, but that would be a lie,” Kimber said.

“Pff,” Kawalski waved away Kimber’s lack of faith. “C’mon, boys. We’ve got us some cheeks to clap!”

They marched forward with deliberate purpose, but stepped through the door almost reverently. Kawalski doffed his cover as he stepped inside, and the others followed suite.

This is definitely the place, he thought, as he looked around. The front door opened into a large hall, overlooked on three sides by a second-floor open hallway. A large bar covered most of the wall to their left, ending at a doorway to another room, and part of the wall opposite them. Couches of various styles were scattered throughout the large vestibule, and scantily-clad women lounged about. Some watched the room. Some chatted with each other. Some sat in the laps of keshmin who were clearly paying customers. To the right, a grand staircase wrapped around the wall, leading to the upper floors.

The Marines’ arrival drew the attention of most everyone in the room, though a few patrons and their attendants were too preoccupied with each other to notice. A light haze of smoke, incense, and perfume filled the place with a heady aroma, and Kawalski breathed it in with a smile.

“And who are you?” a buxom keshmin said, stepping out from behind the bar. She was dressed as provocatively as any of the other women there, but she had a few flecks of gray in her fur, and she carried herself with a supreme confidence and air of control that left no doubt in Kawalski’s mind that she was the lady of the house. “If you’re trying to find the army camp, I’m afraid you’re quite lost.”

“Oh, we ain’t lost, ma’am,” Kawalski said, holding his cover in both hands and giving her a respectful nod. “We’re exactly where we aimed to be.”

She frowned, flicking her ears to the side with a small shake of her head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your words. You won’t find much help, here.”

“The help we’s is lookin’ for is what you provide,” Kawalski said, gesturing at the floor to try to convey his meaning, but only elicited another confused look and a shake of the head from the matron of the establishment. He frowned, scratching the back of his head. “Well, fuck …”

“Ha, forgot this would be a problem?” Kimber said, chuckling at him.

“Shut the fuck up, Kyle, so did you!”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the matron said, gesturing at the door. “I have customers who prefer not to be disturbed.”

Kawalski frowned. “No, we don’t want to go. We want to be here.” He pointed at the flood again, trying to explain through gestures. Am I gonna have to start humping the air to get my point across?

“Please,” she said, gesturing at the door. “I’d rather not make a scene.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you ain’t understandin’ us,” Kawalski said, holding up his hands. “We don’t want to go,” he gestured at the door. “We want to stay!” he swung his arms back around to point at the floor.

The matron’s ears swept back in a stern expression, but before she could open her mouth, a loud, yipping laugh flowed down the stairs. “Oh, Tanyi, zey are not lost, zey are here to see us!” The Marines all turned to look at the new arrival, and found their attention ensnared. The young keshmin sauntering down the stairs was as orange as a tiger, with stripes to match, though they ran with her body rather than perpendicular. She had a few spots for good measure, and the tufts of fur at the points of her ears were also black. She stepped down the stairs with a casual grace and poise that would have demanded attention on its own, and combined with her stunning figure and proportions, she had the Marines wrapped around her finger before she reached the bottom step.

She grinned, clearly quite happy to toy with their attentions as she sashayed her way over to them. Her snout was on the smaller side for a keshmin, and came to a finer point than any he had seen before. Holding her tail up behind her, she flicked the tip back and forth in time with her steps. “Zey are like any soldier boys, in need of company.” Her voice rang with an exotic accent to Kawalski’s ear, and for as little thought he had actually given to the Ganlin language, it was still clear to him that it was not her first. She brushed Gomez’s nose with her tail as she walked by, giving them a coy smile. They all turned to follow her with their eyes as she stepped over to the Matron. “Zough you shouldn’t need any vords to tell dat, I tink.” She grinned at them.

The matron, Tanyi, looked at the new arrival, then back at the Marines, eyeing them in a new light. She chuckled. “Hm … I suppose you’re right, Saishi. Perhaps I should offer them a drink. They look quite … Parched.”

“A drink would do quite nicely, ma’am,” Kawalski said with a nod, taking his cover in both hands once more.

Saishi giggled, her ears flicking from side-to-side. “Vell, at least zey can understand you, vhich should be plenty enough to make arrangements. Ve have done so with less, for sure!” She gave them a grin. “And so polite!”

“You can understand us?” Kimber asked.

“Da. Yes,” she laughed. “Zough most here weren’t close enough to ze battle to catch ze spell. I was unfortunate enough to be.” She flicked her ears back, giving them a sly look. “Or fortunate, perhaps …”

“Well, then, come in,” Tanyi said, taking a step back and waving them out of the entrance. “And we can discuss arrangements.”

“Mmm … You do zat,” Saishi said. “For me, zough, I tink I’m going to take ze big one.” She grinned, slinking up to Gomez. She ran her hands up his arms as she leaned into him, her nose twitching ever so slightly. “Mmm … So strong …” She looked up at him through lidded eyes, her ears slicked back, her head canted to the side. “And vhat can you do for me, hmm?”

Gomez shivered. “Oh, I’ll do whatever you want, miss.”

“Hm.” She smiled, reaching up to tap him on the nose. “I know you vill!” She slid her hands back down his arms, until her fingers had interlocked with his. “Come,” she said, pulling him towards the stairs. “Come show me vhat you vill do for me!”

Gomez looked over his shoulder at the group, a dreamy expression on his face, as he was led up the stairs.

Damn, Iwanted that one … Kawalski thought.

“Woof, brah …”

“So, uh … What about us?” Kimber asked.

“For the rest of you …” Tanyi leaned on the bar, inadvertently, or perhaps advertently, exposing more of her cleavage. “I’m sure you understand that each of my girls has a price …”

“Oh, we can pay, ma’am,” Kawalski said, reaching into his backpack to pull out a pouch. He shook it, producing the clink of a heavy pouch of coins.

Tanyi’s ears swung up. “Excellent …” she grinned, twirling an ear away from then back towards them. Kawalski realized that they were still very much the center of everyone else’s attention, and found it escalated to a whole new level as they were suddenly surrounded by women. “Take your pick, girls, or let them pick you.” She flicked an ear at the Marines. “You get the standard rate if they pick you, or each girl’s special rate if you request them.” Another ear flick. “It’s double for two.”

The Marines all soon found themselves led off into adjoining rooms, or led up the stairs, eager to have a good time.

*****

“A hundred and fifty gold crowns,” Bradford said, dropping a ream of paper on the counter in front of her with a heavy thunk.

The merchant across from her flicked his ears up. “Have you been smoking tildra? I’ll pay a full dram a sheet for paper of this quality,” he said, tapping her pocket notebook, sitting open on the table. “But this-“

“Is five hundred sheets of paper that’s four times the quality,” she said, carefully opening the packaging to reveal the printer paper inside. She’d sprung a little extra for mid-grade paper, and was glad for it. Running ran a thumb along the edge, she flipped through the blank pages.

His ears flicked back and he narrowed his eyes, inspecting the paper. Ha. Got him.

“One hundred crowns.”

“One forty.”

“For that price, I could hire a wagon to go through the portal and get some, myself.” The merchant waved at the door of his shop. “One hundred and ten more,” he said, locking eyes with her.

“One twenty,” she said, returning his gaze, “Or I take my business across the street.”

His eyes narrowed. “Deal.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” she said, holding out her hand. He grasped her arm in the keshmin style, and they shook over the paper.

He ducked into a small safe behind the counter, and came back up to count out her gold. Double-checking the count as she stuffed the half-dollar-sized disks in her second over-filled coin purse, she gave him a final smile and nod, and turned away to find Rinn.

As she walked away, she caught sight of him in a small mirror. He grinned as he inspected the paper once more, and the set of his ears as he glanced at her back was unmistakable. Ha! That bastard thinks he robbed me!

Repressing the skip in her step, she found Rinn waiting by the door. “Having fun swindling the locals?”

“A blast,” she said. “Any luck?”

“No,” he said, leading the way out of the shop, then falling in step beside her as they walked out onto the street. “They have nothing from the army here.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, then touched her stomach and frowned as something gurgled.

“Problem?” he asked, tilting an ear at her.

“Yeah,” she said, pushing the discomfort aside. “Something we ate earlier isn’t sitting very well.”

“I’m surprised it’s sitting at all. I warned you not to use so much calanzi.” He flicked an ear at her.

“Yeah, but it tasted so good! Weirdly sweet and zesty, you guys could make a killing with that stuff.”

“You ate enough to put half a line in the latrine for a week!” he said, his ears flicking up.

“Eh, doesn’t feel any worse than a night at Taco Bell,” she said, then chuckled. “Though I bet Davies is shitting his brains out right now. He was practically drinking the stuff.”

“I saw,” he said, sweeping his ears back, then chuckling himself. They looked at each other, and shared a laugh at the thought of Davies’ discomfort.

Rinn turned off the street, stepping towards an open shop door. “This looks like a promising one.”

“Third time’s the charm?” she said, following him inside.

*****

“What about this one?” Miller asked, holding up a robe of a heavy, silk-like material. It was blue, with white trimming and highlights.

“Oooh, here, let me try it on!” Sampson rushed over. “May I?” he asked the shopkeeper, who nodded. He didn’t understand a word of English, but had shown no difficulty in understanding their meaning. “Here, hold this,” he handed Miller a basket of several other items he had already purchased, some from that stall.

“Of course,” Miller said, passing the robe over as took the basket.

“Now, let’s see,” Sampson carefully slipped the robe on, then struck several poses before turning and walking back and forth like he was on a runway. “How do I look, sweetheart?” he said, putting on a mock tone of a fashion model. “Just imagine me as Jenna.” He paused mid-turn and swung his head to look at Miller, hips cocked. “Does this make me look fabulous, sweetheart?”

Miller laughed. “I think this one is definitely the one for Jenna, but I think the red one looks better on you.”

“I think you’re absolutely right on that one, bro,” Sampson said, holding his arms up and looking down to inspect the robe. He carefully took it off and passed it back to Miller, who pulled out a handful of coins for the merchant. The keshmin happily took the gold pieces, then took the robe and folded it inside a protective sheet of thin, rice paper-like material. Miller took the package with a smile, and carefully stowed it in their locally-made basket.

“Oh, oh! C’mon!” Sampson said, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards another merchant’s stand. “I see jewelry we have to try on!”

“Ooh, where?! Jenna loves jewelry!”

*****

“Fourth time’s the charm?” Bradford asked as they walked out, half an hour later, resettling her backpack. She had picked up a couple souvenirs she thought her parents would like, and had come out several silver drams in the positive after trading a flashlight and batteries, but Rinn hadn’t found anything he was looking for.

“Maybe,” he said, his ears swinging low. The day was more than half over, and he hadn’t found any hint of his old stuff. They might not even be in any of the shops at all …

“Hey,” Bradford said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve still got most of the afternoon left, we might still find something.” She nodded at the next storefront. “Let’s try this one, it looks promising.”

“Right,” he said, perking his ears up. “Plenty of sunshine still left in the day.” He tapped her shoulder with his tail in thanks before stepping through the door.

Moving around a rack of trinkets, he found his optimism returning. I’ve got a good feeling about this place … Something about it smells familiar.

“Rinn Ahyet! Gods’ breaf, I can’t believe it’s you!” Rinn froze, his ears shooting up. It can’t be … He slowly turned towards the shop counter, and the only other person in the store. “But i’ is you! Above and below, I’d recognize ‘at snou’ anywhere!”

“Uncle Eiyun?” his ears swung to point behind him, then swung back to lock onto the shopkeeper. Aside from a smear of white around his muzzle, and salt-and-pepper speckles scattered through his fur, he was as midnight black as Rinn. “I thought you were dead!”

“An’ I feared veh same for you, lad!” He shook his head. “I’s been too long.” He waved Rinn over. “Come over ‘ere an’ le’ me ‘ave a look at ye. I ‘aven’ seen you since you was barely more’n a whelp!”

Rinn chuckled, stepping over to the counter, Bradford following behind. “Not since two, three years before I left for University …”

“Aye, lad!” He smiled. “I reckon it’s been a dozen odd years or more, at leas’, and my you’ve all growed up!” He yipped a laugh. “But ain’ no mistakin’ ‘at snou’ of yours! Gods above know I could see it ‘alf a mile away!”

“Uncle Eiyun!” Rinn flicked his ears low and put a hand to his nose in embarrassment.

“Aye,” Eiyun leaned over the counter, pointing at him. “For all as opposite a snou’s as could be, your muvva and favva’s were, and you’ve gone an’ in’eri’ed ‘em bofe!” He grinned, twirling an ear at Bradford. “Luck as may be fer you, as dashing as i' make you look!”

Rinn gave him a sheepish grin back, tugging at a horn.

“Ah, but enough wiv blus’a an’ teasin’ from yer ol’ Uncle Eiyun,” he said, pushing himself back upright. ‘Ow’ve you been, lad? In veh Royal ‘ost now, I ‘ear.”

“Yeh,” he yipped, then cleared his throat. “Yes. I’m a Second Artificer, now; been so for a while. I’m actually assigned to work with the humans, now!” He grinned. “Even been to their world a couple times!”

“Oh, look a’ you! Speakin’ all fancy, propa like, an’ runnin’ off on vose adven’ures you was always dreamin’ abou’!” He shook his head, flicking an ear at Bradford. “An’ ‘ose vis young lass you’ve brung in’o me shop?”

“Oh, above and below, my manners!” Rinn’s ears flicked up in embarrassment. “Uncle Eiyun, this is Sergeant Bradford. Sergeant Bradford, Uncle Eiyun.” He gestured between the two. His ears perked up and his tail twitched eagerly. “Bradford saved my life in at Aigyon’s Field! If she and her squad hadn’t showed up when they did, I wouldn’t be here today!”

Eiyun’s ears shot up, and he gave Bradford an appreciative nod.

“I fell in with her squad after the battle, and was assigned to work with her and her battalion. She’s a fierce warrior, ‘damn fine Marine’ as they say, and a friend.” He practically beamed with pride, his tail bumping her with affection. Bradford blushed and rubbed the back of her neck as she smiled in return, uncomfortable with the praise.

“Oi, an’ if you can se’ aside ‘er fla’ face an’ lack o’ fur,” Eiyun said, leaning towards Rinn while giving her an appraising look up and down. “She’s a righ’ fine young catch ov a lass, ain’ she?”

Rinn’s ears flattened against the back of his skull as his eyes shot wide in mortification.

Bradford’s smile disappeared, and she gave Rinn’s uncle a dead-faced stare.

Eiyun kept grinning, his eyes on Bradford as he leaned a little closer to Rinn. “She can unnerstan’ every word I say, can’ she?”

“Yes, I can,” she yipped in Gyani, still holding her dead-faced stare.

“Ah,” he said, sweeping into as low a bow as the counter in front of him would allow. “Forgive me, lass, for a dir’y old man.”

Bradford snorted and smiled. “My family has been in the Marines since my great-grandfather went off to fight in the Second World War.” She struggled a bit in pronunciation, but her Gyani was mostly correct. “I have heard worse.”

“You’ve all me gra’i'ude,” Eiyun said, bowing again with a humble sweep of his ears. “I weren’ in keeping wi’f proprie’y a’ all.”

“You are Rinn’s uncle?” she asked. Rinn smiled. She didn’t call me fish.

“Oh, aye,” Eiyun said, then waggled an ear. “Now, it ain’ by blood, mind. ‘is ol’ pa an’ me, we was al’ays best o’ mates. Like bruvvas we was, even ‘ough we ain’t. ‘e and ‘is family’s ‘ome was like mine, and mine was like veirs.”

“What are you doing here?” Rinn asked. “Last I heard, you were in business in San’ria.”

“’At I was,” he nodded. “Was even de’ermined I’d stay when ‘em gods-spi’ed elves moved in. Finally saw sense af’er veh second breakou’ an’ packed it in. Were in one uv veh las’ groups in veh final breakou’.” He frowned, his ears swinging low. “Wa’ched ‘em sack veh ci’y an’ raze it from ‘eeyu’s Point.”

“I was there!” Rinn said. “We were trying to break the siege, but only had the Fourth and Ninth Banners, and only half the Ninth’s artillery.” He shook his head. “We didn’t have the strength to drive them off, but we hit them hard when we saw you making a breakout. Kept half their army pinned on our side of the city walls until after the last breakout got clear, before they threw us back.”

His ears drooped. “Lord General Callai ordered us to quit the field when they breached the walls. There was nothing we could do. Bastards knew it, too. They didn’t even give chase.”

“Aye,” Eiyun nodded, then lifted his ears. “Bu’ veh war’s changin’ now, in’i'? Wo’ wif our new friens’ ‘ere an all.” He gave Bradford a smile, dipping an ear at her. “Dropped veh wraf uv veh gods on ‘em, s’wo’ I ‘eard.”

“Good, old-fashioned freedom by overwhelming firepower,” Bradford said, returning the smile.

“How long have you been here, Uncle Eiyun?” Rinn asked. “The Host was here for weeks before the portal opened, I know I must’ve been by this very shop before, yet I never saw you.”

“I se’ up business ‘ere nigh on free years ago,” Eiyun said, scrunching his nose and ears a bit in thought. “Maybe a bi’ less. Only a couple monfs af’er San’ria. ‘Ad some dealings ‘ere before, an’ already owned veh shop, bu’ used i' as a ware’ouse, mos’ly.” He scratched his cheek. “Was in Gyaiyan near a couple monfs, workin’ on business, an’ cour’in’ me a missus, only go’ back in maybe a week ago.”

He frowned, his ears cocking in annoyance. “’Ad a bloke wo’ were suppos’a run me shop while I were gone, bu’ veh bligh’er skinnied ou’ when ‘em ricke’y bas’ards showed up across veh riva.” He shrugged. “Lef’ me a leh’ah, sayin’ ‘e’d locked everyfin’ up, took ‘is las’ pay, an’ auled off fer Kalyikai.”

“What’s this?” Rinn said, cocking an ear in surprise. “My Uncle Eiyun, finally finding a wife and settling down?”

“I’d nevuh!” Eiyun said, his ears flicking up in mock outrage, before he slicked them back with a sly grin, leaning on his countertop. “Bu’ I did make an honest go uv i'. ‘Ad me eye on a righ’ swee’ ol’ lass, proper lady she.” He grinned. “She didn’ buy a lick uv me charm, bu’ she’d still stop an’ give me veh hour uv veh day!”

He sighed, straightening back up with a slow waggle of his ears. “Bu’ it weren’a be. Believe it or don’, bu’ she were veh one wo’ weren’ ready to seh'le down. She wan’ed ‘a bi’ more adven’ure ‘an your old, Uncle Eiyun was lookin’ for vese days.” He shook his head. “Go’ me shop, and a righ’ good business ‘ere, an’ veh road ain’ as kind on me old bones as it once were.”

Leaning forward, he reached out and tapped Rinn’s snout. “Bu’ enuff abou’ me, wo’ abou’ you? You fin’ yourself a lass ye’?” he said, turning an ear towards Bradford.

“Nah,” Rinn said, shaking his head. “Hard to find someone when we’re always marching from one fight to the next, with barely time to piss in between.” He shrugged. “Besides, if the Host needed me to have a wife, they’d have issued me one by now.”

“Oh, you and your blus’er,” Eiyun waved him off. “You’ll fin’ yourself a lass, sooner or la’er, an’ per’aps closer ‘an you migh’ fink.” He gave Rinn a smile, before slapping the counter. “Now, wo’ can ol’ Eiyun geh’ fer yous? You came in ‘ere wif a purpose, could see ‘at even afore I caugh’ sigh’ uv ‘at snou’ a’ yours.”

“Well, we’re looking for my kit, actually,” Rinn said, his ears waggling then swinging back. “And anything I had in it. By the time I got back to camp after half the Host routed, my whole square’s pavilions had either been trampled and looted or hauled off, and all of my gear was gone. My tulu, my seilei, all my things, but most importantly,” his ears sagged. “Mom’s wedding bands. I kept them in my trunk, but everything was gone.”

Eiyun frowned, his ears swinging back. “’At’s a righ’ damn shame, ‘at is,” he said, and frowned. “Unfor’una’ly, I ain’ seen tuf’ nor tail uv anyfin’ uv yours.” He cocked his ears. “I don’ always question veh source of me wares, if you know wo’ I mean, and don’ pay much mind on ‘oo buys ‘em, beyond good busines sense, bu’ I would’ve hung on’a vose!”

Scratching his snout, he stared into the distance past his shop window. “I do know a bloke, fough, like as migh’ have som’at you’re lookin’ for. Ol’ Yeerai, ‘round veh way. ’E’s ‘ad a lo’ of war-los’ goods of la’e, if you know wo’ I mean. ‘E’ll haggle and connive a demon for his muvva, bu’ ‘e’s a good bloke.”

“You think he’ll have it?” Rinn asked, his ears perking up.

“If anyone ‘as your ki’, mos’ likely it’ll be ‘im,” Eiyun said, straightening. “If you ‘ead lef’ from me fron’ door, round veh end of veh lane, an’ on ova veh nex’ one, ven down’a veh square, you’ll fin’ ‘im be’ind’a green door in’a far corner.”

“Thanks, Uncle Eiyun,” he said, his feet already itching to go.

“Me ‘ome is your ‘ome,” Eiyun said, flicking his ears at Rinn. “Make sure you come an’ visi’ nows you know your ol’ Uncle Eiyun ain’ dead, an’ where I’m livin’ an’ such.”

“I will!” Rinn said, already halfway to the door. He caught Bradford smiling as she followed him.

“An’ lass!” Eiyun called, stepping around his counter. “You ‘ake care of ‘im, now, you ‘ear?”

“I can take care of myself, Uncle Eiyun,” Rinn said, rolling his ears as he glared at him over his shoulder.

“You weren’ always so good at keepin’ af’er yerself, growin’ up,” Eiyun said, flicking an ear at Rinn. “Payin’ more min’a keepin’ ovas’ tails ou’a veh mud van min’in’ yer own.”

“I will make sure he keeps his tail out of the mud,” Bradford said, giving Rinn a wink. “We do not have any tails for him to mind.”

“See you do, lass,” Eiyun said. “Knowin’ ‘im, ‘e’ll need it.” He waved them away. “Now, go on, ge’ on wif fin’in’ yer mum’s weddin’ bands. She’ll haun’ me forever if I were veh reason you missed ge’in’ vem back.”

“I’ll be back to visit, Uncle Eiyun, maybe in a few days,” Rinn said, turning back to the door.

“See you do, young man, we’ve go’ a lo’ of ca’chin’ up to do.” Eiyun smiled, waving an ear at them as they left.

*****

“You owe me fifty bucks,” Kawalski said, downing a shot before turning to lean against the bar and grin at Gomez. “All the bits match up pretty fuckin’ well.”

Gomez dismissed the debt with a wave, downing a large mug of some kind of ale in several, large gulps. He set the mug down, a big, dumb grin on his face. “Dude, they think we’re huge!”

Kawalski laughed, rolling his eyes, and waved at the bartender. He wiggled his glass to signal for a refill. “Bro, hookers ALWAYS say you’re huge.”

A trilling yip drifted down from above. Kawalski looked up to see the sultry, striped woman leaning over a rail, waving at them.

Draining the last of his mug, Gomez pushed away from the bar and headed back towards the stairs. “Duty calls!”

Chuckling and shaking his head at the younger Marine and wistful memories, Kawalski downed his second shot. A furred hand slid up his arm as his elbow was nestled between a pair of breasts. “Lonely?” a cream-colored woman with dark speckles and spots said, leaning her snout on his shoulder. He shivered as her tail ran up his spine.

He turned, giving her a look up and down to take her in. She ain’t that exotic chick, but damn, if she don’t got a fine ass … “Absolutely.”

She smiled, her ears flicking up as her hand slid down his arm to take his, and she led him towards the stairs.

*****

In high spirits, Rinn and Bradford quick-marched down the lane and around the corner to the next street over. “Green door,” she said, nodding across the square.

“It is a green door,” Rinn said, nodding as he pulled her across the square.

A bell rang as they walked inside. Looks like a lot of the same things in Rinn’s uncle’s shop, Bradford thought as she moved past Rinn, further into the store. But many of these things look like they came from a Civil War or Revolutionary War re-enactment camp …

The bell rang again as Bradford stepped around a display stand. Heh, he looks like a badger, she thought, glancing over her shoulder at the distinctively-striped keshmin. He barely looked around before he turned and walked back out. Guess it wasn’t the place he was looking for.

Stepping further into the shop, Bradford froze at a sudden gurgle in her guts. Oh … Oh no … Glancing around, she spotted the shopkeeper. “Um, excuse me,” she said, holding very still as her guts gurgled again. “I need to, uh …” What was the word?

“Yes?” the shopkeeper asked.

“I need the, um …” Damnit, I never asked that word!

He frowned, both ears tilting to his right. “What is it you need?”

“I- I ate a lot of calanzi.”

“Ah.” His ears swung back as he nodded in sudden understanding. “There is a public outhouse across the square,” he nodded out the shop window. “It stands alone, you can’t miss it.”

Doing an about face, she double-timed it towards the door. “Rinn, I’ll be back, gotta use the head!”

“I told you!” he called after her, shaking his head and waggling his ears with a smile. “I’ll wait for you out front if you’re not back before I’m done.”

She only had time to wave at him before she was out the door and sprinting across the square. Shit! Shit! Shit! Literally!

Almost at the outhouse, she stumbled as her guts cramped, but it passed without disaster. Definitely not going to make it through another one of those … Thank god I’m here, and it’s not occupied, she thought as she pushed through the door. And thank god I brought field wipes, she added, glancing at a box of corn cob-looking husks sitting next to the bench seat.

Dropping her backpack, another cramp hit as she unbuckled her pants. “Oh, fuck,” she muttered as she scrambled to pop the stays off her shirt. Her ass hit the bench with no time to spare as the cramp turned into a violent contraction.

*****

I hope she makes it, Rinn thought, chuckling to himself and trying not to be too amused by her discomfort.

Flicking the image of that potential disaster out of his mind, he moved over to a glass display case built into the main counter. Placing his hands on the glass countertop, he looked down, and froze. That’s … I think that’s them.

“Something catch your eye, lad?” the shopkeeper said, walking over.

“Yeh,” he said, his ears locked on the paired gold wristbands. “Vese weddin’ bands ‘ere-“ He coughed, swallowing, and started again. “These wedding bands.” He tapped the glass.

“For the human girl?” the shopkeeper quirked an ear at him, then rolled it with a shrug as he opened the case and reached in.

“No,” he whispered, still staring at the bands, then shook his head, closing his eyes. “No,” he said more firmly, his eyes still closed. “Engraved inside, does one say ‘Teesin Ahyat’ and the other ‘Rayu Ahyat,’ and ‘Like an endless river,’ in both?”

Rinn heard the shopkeeper set the box on the counter. “Why, yes, yes, they do.” He opened his eyes to see the man frowning at him, his ears quirked low. “How did you know?”

“I am Second Artificer Rinn Ahyat. They were my mother and father,” he said, meeting the man’s eyes. “They became my mother’s when father died of tallow fever just before the war.” He gently reached out to touch the star engraved next to Rayu Ahyat. “And I took them from my mother’s charred remains after the elves sacked Laelae.” He touched the star engraved next to Teesin. It wasn’t as clean. He wasn’t a jeweler, and hadn’t the time to find one on the campaign. “They were stolen from me, along with the rest of my kit, during the route at Aigyon’s Field.”

The shopkeeper’s ears swung back against his skull. “I have never been to Aigyon’s Field.”

“I do not doubt.” Rinn held the man’s gaze, his ears sweeping back to match the angle of his horns. “I would like them back, and anything else of mine that was pawned to you.”

The shopkeeper placed the bands back in the box. “I am sorry, but I purchased these from a reputable collector in fair trade. I can’t just hand them away to anyone.”

Rinn kept his ears fixed in place, locking eyes with the man. “They rightfully belong to me.”

“Be that as it may,” the shopkeeper shifted uncomfortably under Rinn’s gaze. “They were purchased in fair trade. My claim to them is valid, and my possession of them is lawful.” He shifted again, his ears flicking to the rear. “But I empathize with your circumstance. I can sell them to you for a discou-“

A stream of items clattered onto the countertop as Rinn emptied his bag of all the human trade goods he had left. “These are human pens that have the ink built into them, with a smooth point that won’t tear paper unless you gouge it with them,” he said, tapping one of two identical boxes. “There are twenty in each.” He tapped the next item. “This is a magnifying glass of better quality than any you will find even at Yagyhanae. And this,” he tapped the last item. “Is a calculating machine. It will perform any standard arithmetic flawlessly, without error, as fast as you can touch the numbers.”

The shopkeeper’s ears swung forward as he described each item, his eyes growing wide as he leaned forward in interest.

“Did this ‘reputable collector’ trade anything else with my mother’s wedding bands?” Rinn asked, dropping a hand on top of his trade goods.

The shopkeeper’s ears twitched for a moment, then he took a deep breath. “Let me check my records,” he said. He looked at a marker in the case, then disappeared into the back, taking the box with the wedding bands with him.

Patience … Rinn told himself, clenching and unclenching his fist. Just a little patience …

Several minutes later, the shopkeeper returned. He wore a set of small spectacles on his snout, and carried a receipt in one hand and a couple items in the crook of his arm. “There were only a few other things I purchased from that collector.” He set them on the counter. Rinn recognized his grooming kit, handed down from his father and his father’s father, and a box he kept his medals in.

Squinting at the receipt through his spectacles, the shopkeeper moved around the room, collecting a few other things. His dress uniform, extra rank insignia, a deck of cards he’d bought three years ago and rarely used, and his mess kit. A few other items were set on the counter, but he didn’t recognize them.

“These are mine,” he said, sorting his things. “That’s all I want.” He opened his medals box and flicked an ear, surprised to find them still there. He quickly sorted through them to make sure none were missing, and noticed the shopkeeper’s ears twitch when he pulled out the golden Kyainan Star of Valor. I wonder if he knows what it is,he thought, with an ear twitch of his own. Not many who earned it survived to wear it.

He closed the box. “Were there any instruments? A tulu or a seilei?”

The shopkeeper shook his head. “No, this was all I purchased. He had a few other things, but nothing I was interested in, and no instruments. I would have bought any that weren’t broken.”

Rinn nodded, and looked down at his things with a sigh. I wish I could just take my things as mine …“I’ll give you the box of pens and the magnifying glass.”

“I wouldn’t give you the wedding bands for those. All of it, and twenty crowns.”

“And you would rob me twice.” Rinn snorted, collecting his trade goods. “I was making a deal only to save myself time. I’ll summon the constable, and have all of my things back without paying a tog.” He turned his back and started walking towards the door.

“Wait!” The shopkeeper called. Rinn paused. “I’ll ask only for ten crowns.” He took a step. “Fine, fine! Even trade!” He took another step. “Look, I’ll give you twenty drams, plus your things, for the lot. You won’t find a better deal here, or anywhere!”

Burying a victorious smile, Rinn turned and marched back to the counter. “I’ll give you a list of things to be alert for, and you’ll send word to me at the human fort at the portal.”

“So long as you give me the meaning of the symbols on the arithmetic artifice.”

“Agreed.” Rinn set his trade goods on the counter and held out a hand. The shopkeeper shook it.

A few minutes and a couple exchanged notes later, Rinn was walking out of the shop, wedding bands in hand. Stepping out of the door, he glanced around, but didn’t see Bradford. He noticed a short line starting to form at the public outhouse across the square, and twitched an ear in amusement.

Glancing down at the box in his hands, he took his backpack off and carefully tucked them away inside. Not sure how long he would be waiting, he rummaged around inside the pack and pulled out a candy bar. I think a bit of celebration is in order.

He resettled the pack on his back, and opened the brown wrapper with a grin. I love these things … he thought, and took a bite. He closed his eyes, savoring the sweet chocolate, caramel, and nutty crunch with a sigh. Today has been a good day.

Hearing footsteps approaching, he opened his eyes, hoping to see Bradford. Instead, he found a distinctly-striped pikeleader, backed by a squad of pikemen. All were familiar faces.

“Kolei! You’re alive! I thought you were all dead!”

“Of course we’re alive,” Kolei sneered. “It was you who was presumed dead. Conveniently left uncorrected.”

“What? I’ve been-“

“Spare me, Ahyat. Seize him!”

The soldiers leapt forward. Caught off-guard, not expecting a fight, they were on him before he could react. He dropped his candy bar and resisted, but he was quickly wrestled to his knees.

“Second Artificer Rinn Ahyat, you are charged with desertion!”

“What? No!” He struggled against the four keshmin holding him. “I’ve been-“ He cut off as something slammed into the back of the head, leaving him dazed.

“Gag him, and bind his hands as well! The Line Commander will want to see him immediately.”

*****

That hit like a bad night at Taco Bell …Bradford thought, straightening her uniform and giving it a quick inspection for cleanliness. She grabbed her pack of field wipes and took a cautious glance down the hole. Huh … So that’s their sewer system. Better than I was expecting. She stowed her field wipes and swung her pack back over her shoulders, then paused. Probably not a good idea to do anything downstream of this place.

Shrugging, she unlatched the door and opened it. Outside, she was greeted by a chorus of surprised ear flicks from the small line of keshmin, followed by a wave of wrinkled snouts as the air inside wafted out. Ah, yeah, that’s not a good smell … “Uh … Calanzi,” she said, stepping out of the shack. She received a couple understanding nods intermingled with looks of disgust. “Might want to, uh … light a match,” she said, before squaring her cover on her head and hurrying away. God … I’m just going to find Rinn and get the fuck away from here, she thought, all but quick-marching across the square.

Approaching the green door, she didn’t see Rinn outside, but she did notice something out of place on the ground. She reached down and picked up a half-eaten candy bar. The fuck …She frowned, narrowing her eyes. Something isn’t right.She looked at the ground, carefully stepping up and back, looking for anything else out of place. Cobble, grass, dirt … She tucked the candy bar into a pocket. The dirt’s scuffed, but that could be from anything. She turned in place, casting a more appraising eye about the square, but saw nothing that stood out.

Turning back to the green door, she marched inside. Glancing around as she doffed her cover, she noted Rinn’s absence, and quickly strode over to the shopkeeper. “The man that was …” she cleared her throat. “The man that was with me when I was here before now. Where is he?”

“He left a short time ago,” he said, flicking an ear at the door.

“Yes, I see he gone,” Bradford said, giving him an annoyed look. No shit, Sherlock. “Did you see where he go? What happen him?”

“I, uh … yes. Some soldiers of the Host met him outside my door. They took him away.”

“What?” She frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” he held up his hands, his ears flicking back. “But he wasn’t taken willingly.”

“Where?” her eyes narrowed.

“I don’t know where they were taking him,” he shook his head, his ears flicking down, then back up. “But I would guess the army camp. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes,” she said, then paused. “But not from here.”

“Go right out my door, and down the street. When you reach the cross street, go left, then left again at the second street. Follow it to the end, and you’ll be at the main road through the town. Turn right on that and the Royal Host and refugee camps will be between the town and the wall.”

She nodded, repeating his directions back. “Thank you,” she said, squaring her cover back on her head. With an about face, she marched out of the shop. She turned right, and strode down the street, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She paused at the corner to send out a mass text. Shields is in trouble. Meet me at the keshmin army camp.

Stuffing her phone back in her pocket, she quick-marched down the street. No one she passed dared stay in her way.

*****

“Do you think this looks better over the left shoulder, or the right shoulder?” Miller asked, posing for Sampson.

“I still think you should go with the chartreuse one,” Sampson said. “Fluff it out a little bit, over your chest, like you got boobs.”

“Nah, I told you, Jenna hateschartreuse,” Miller said, fluffing out the toga-like sheet of cloth. “Reminds her of something she threw up when she was a kid.”

“Well, her loss, then.” Sampson threw his hands up, shaking his head. “Alright, now give me a runway.”

Miller turned and walked away, then turned back and stalked toward Sampson. “Mm, yeah, now twirl. And pose! Oh, work it, baby, work it! Oh, I could smack that ass!” He turned to one of the keshmin who had stopped to watch them. “What do you think? Right shoulder?”

The man gave him a sidelong glance, shrugging his ears.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Sampson said, nodding. He turned back to Miller. “Yeah, no, Steve here says the right shoulder is terrible, you need to do go with the left, but maybe try draping it around and twisting it back over your right shoulder.”

Miller walked back over, carefully unwrapping the toga. “Jenna’s going to love this!” He paused, then dug into his pocket, pulling his phone out a moment after Sampson pulled out his. They exchanged a glance, then Miller stripped the toga off.

“How much?” Sampson asked the merchant, pulling out a coin purse. He quickly counted out the first offer as Miller stuffed the toga into his backpack. Probably time to quit, anyway … Our bags are full to bursting.

“Ready?” Sampson asked as Miller swung the pack onto his back.

“Yes,” he said, his business face falling back into place.

“Let’s roll, then,” Sampson said, turning to lead the way out of the market.

They were near the edge of the square when he spotted another group of Marines. “Hey, there’s Dubois. Dubois!” Sampson waved, catching their attention. They met the other four Marines halfway.

“Any idea what’s up?” Edison asked.

“Nope,” Miller said. “You?”

Dubois shook his head. “Not a clue, but it probably isn’t good.”

“Leave it to the local to be the one to get in trouble,” Davies said, rolling his eyes.

Dubois gave him a look, then turned and led the way out of the town. “You guys seen Kawalski’s group?”

“Not since we split. You?”

“Nope. Hopefully we’ll run into them along the way.”

*****

“Ah!”

“Ai!”

“Ah”

“Ai!”

Kawalski grunted, each hand digging into a furry ass cheek as a pair of breasts bobbed in his face. God, this little minx is-

The door burst open and Gomez stormed in, blouse in hand, pants half-buckled, shirt half-tucked. The woman on top of Kawalski squeaked in surprise, but he kept his hands in place and she kept riding.

“Go fuck your own!” Kawalski shouted, and groaned. Fucking hell, man!

Gomez dropped his blouse on a stool and stalked over to pick up the naked woman straight off Kawalski.

She meeped in surprise, and then indignation as she was unceremoniously dumped to the side.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Kawalski sat up, not even trying to cover himself, ready to deck the younger Marine.

“Check your fuckin’ phone,” Gomez said, pointing at Kawalski’s pants. “Shields is in trouble, big-time.”

“Fuuuck!” Kawalski yelled, throwing himself back against the bed in frustration. After a heavy sigh, he stood up and started throwing on his pants. “Sorry, babe.” He grabbed his blouse and backpack, feeling the weight of the coin pouches inside. Right, always gotta pay the ladies. He pulled one out and gave it a heft. How much did she say she was charging? One of these crown things? Seven? Ah, fuck it, it only cost me fifteen bucks for over fifty of ‘em. He shrugged and tossed the entire sack of coins at her. “Keep the change.”

She yipped in surprise at the unexpected throw, then delight as he hopped out of the room, stuffing his feet into his boots.

*****

Bradford stormed through the streets. Most keshmin actively jumped out of her way. Following the shopkeeper’s directions, she quickly reached the edge of town, bringing the camps between it and the wall into view.

The army camp was clearly marked and contained, but the refugee camps were scattered and far less orderly. Clusters of tents had been set up in just about any bare patch of dirt that could hold them. Just outside of the town, next to one such cluster, sat two trucks with several Marines passing out MREs and sacks of rice to an orderly line of keshmin.

The officer supervising the operation turned at her approach, and she recognized First Lieutenant Washburn, Echo Company’s Supply Officer.

“Ma’am,” she said, stopping and snapping a salute.

“Sergeant Bradford,” she said, returning it. “Where’s your battle buddy?”

“I’m trying to find him, ma’am.” She glanced at the Marines. “Can I borrow two of your riflemen, ma’am?”

Washburn sighed. “What stupid shit did Kawalski get up to, now?”

“It’s not Kawalski, ma’am. Ahyat’s been detained, don’t know why.” She grimaced. “I’m hoping it’s just a misunderstanding, but I’ve got a bad feeling, and I’d rather be safe than sorry. And Ma’am? If you could call this up the chain?”

She raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “Brickle, Santelli,” she called over her shoulder. “Go with Sergeant Bradford.” She turned back. “I’ll get on the horn with Meyers and Captain Spader. Try and get him back, or at least keep them from doing anything stupid, but don’t do anything stupid yourself, Sergeant.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” She looked at her new back-up. “Let’s go.”

Turning away from the trucks, she saw the rest of Second Squad rolling up from the town. She waited for them to catch up. “On me,” she said, turning and continuing down the road. Kawalski and Dubois eyed the extra Marines in full battle rattle before exchanging a glance, but they all fell in behind her.

Bradford quickly brought them up to speed as they approached the Ganlin camp, and they all settled into a loose formation behind her as they marched up to the sentry at the main entrance.

Glancing nervously at the squad of humans rolling up on his post, the young keshmin nervously gripped his pike. He was brown and cream colored, and his short, wide snout looked more like a cougar than anything.

“Do you understand English?” Bradford asked, marching right up in front of him. She noted the lack of rank insignia on his uniform. Piker. Their equivalent of Private.

“Yes. I, uh, if that’s what you’re speaking.” He was shorter than Rinn, and had to tilt his head up to meet her eyes.

“Good. An artificer attached to my unit was recently detained by several soldiers of the Royal Host. Was he brought through here?”

“I, uh … What- What did he look like?”

“Pitch black. He’s from Yintar.”

“Well, uh … I don’t know of any artificerpassing through recently, most of them what get rallied up get sent to the main army.” He straightened, trying to look intimidating. “I can’t say beyond that. I’m not supposed to talk about Host business with anyone not sworn to the King.”

“Listen here, Piker,” she said, getting right in his face, practically touching his snout with her nose. “One of my men is missing. He was last seen being detained by soldiers from the Royal Host.” She spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. “Was he brought through here?”

“I, uh, I don’t know if he were an artificer … And I’m not supposed to talk-“

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” She turned away from the sentry. “Come on,” she said, stepping into the camp.

“Wait! You can’t just- oof!” The sentry’s pike clattered to the ground followed a moment later by the sentry as he stumbled back from Kawalski’s heavy shoulder check. Bradford didn’t even look back as she led her squad into the camp.

*****

Rinn’s head ached, but that was the least of his concerns. He glared at Kolei as his hands were unbound and his uniform blouse and shirt were stripped from him. They left the gag tied around his snout, holding his mouth shut. They had originally tied the gag in his mouth, until he had started to chew through it.

Though he recognized some of them, none of the soldiers around him were from his Column, and several were new faces he hadn’t seen in the Line before. Kolei had his backpack and was pulling things out of it. The dress uniform he had reacquired, some snacks, a couple human trade goods he hadn’t bartered away yet, his coin pouch. Rinn’s ears snapped up as Kolei pulled out his mother’s wedding bands, examined them, and with a flick of his ears, tucked them into his tunic.

Growling, Rinn dropped his shoulder and barreled past the soldier bringing his hands back together to rebind them. The unexpected charge sent the man tumbling to the ground, but the soldier on Rinn’s other side grabbed his arm and held him back.

With another growl, Rinn turned, grabbing the man’s arm as he tried to pull Rinn into a grapple. With a twist of his hips he learned from the Marines, Rinn threw him off balance, and a sharp strike broke his arm with a loud Pop!

The man fell to the ground, screaming, as two more soldiers barreled into Rinn, tackling him to the ground. A jab to the nose sent one stumbling back, leaving Rinn’s hands free to grab the other’s head. Rinn felt a bit of an electric tingle as he zapped the man’s skull. The soldier got out half a grunt as he jerked, before falling limp. He was still alive, Rinn didn’t want to kill anyone, but he was done playing around.

He shoved the unconscious man off him and scrambled to his feet, but four more soldiers tackled him from behind. He tried to get another zap in, but they dragged him back to the ground. He felt something in his ribs pop from a sharp jab, and curled into a ball as they pummeled him with kicks and punches.

“That’s enough!” Kolei’s voice shouted. “Get him up, and keep his hands bound!” The weight of bodies pressing on him lightened, and he was hauled to his feet. A rough rope was quickly tied around his wrists and hands, cinched tight enough to immediately start cutting off circulation. “Haul him over there, where he belongs.”

Rinn’s hands were tugged to his left, and he stumbled from a jab to the back. They pulled him into a cleared area, where a crowd had already formed, and up onto a raised platform. He received several jabs and a few kicks as they untied his hands, then strung him between the two beams of a frame that stood atop it. One of the soldiers spat on him.

Another soldier hauled a drum over in front of the platform. He up-ended it, then stepped aside and snapped to attention. An officer with Knight Captain’s insignia strode up and sat down upon it. That’s Knight Gallant Leishin … He’s the Line Captain, not the Line Commander. Did Knight Captain Aiyan die in the battle? He must have, or been relieved …

A steward walked up with a tea tray. He handed it to the soldier who brought the drum, who held it while he poured a cup of tea. “What are the charges, Pikemaster?” Leishin asked, receiving the tea cup and plate from his steward.

Kolei, the Pikemaster’s second, stepped forward, holding up a sheet of parchment. “Second Artificer Rinn Ahyat. Charged with dereliction, desertion, and cowardice in the face of the enemy.”

“And what evidence do you have of these charges?” Leishin sipped his tea.

“He was found at Yeerai’s, a known peddler of items stolen from the Royal Host, in a stolen uniform. He was perusing items looted during the Retreat, and likely pawning off more of the same. He has been absent since the Retreat, even though word has been spread that 3rd Line has regrouped here and all soldiers were to rally here for muster. His name has been posted on all four of the lists of the Missing, Presumed Dead since the second day after the Retreat, yet he has not come forward to correct them in all that time. Lastly, when confronted, he resisted arrest, broke Pikeman Kessin’s arm, and nearly killed Third Pike Kyaiin with a natural-shaped shockburst.”

Leishin frowned. “A shame to lose such a talented artificer, especially when our numbers are so depleted.” He sipped his tea. “But the evidence is clear, and an example must be made. Hang him.” He took another sip of his tea.

Shouts and jeers erupted from the crowd. Rinn tried to object, but a hood was shoved over his head. Several hands grabbed his arms as he was untied from the posts. He fought, struggling against his captors, until a fist to the groin deflated him. He fell to his knees, his mind reeling in pain, as his hands were bound behind his back. A noose was strung around his neck.

He was hauled back to his feet, as much by the noose as the hands gripping his arms. “You’ll be dancing all the way to the gods below, you filthy coward,” Pikemaster Croan whispered in his ear as he stood on tip-toe, gasping for breath.

No, no, no! He desperately tried to shape a spell to cut his bonds, but he couldn’t see, and his hands were already numb. He didn’t have the mana to just light them on fire and burn through the ropes before his hands were reduced to charred stumps. Today is a terrible day to die! He despaired, seeing no hope for survival.

Until the deafening roar of three gunshots cut over the crowd. His eyes lit with renewed hope under the hood when he heard the sweet, heavens-sent sound of Marine Corps Sergeant Jamie Alice Bradford in full fury. “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!”

*****

“We are dispensing justice to a deserter,” the Ganlin officer said, giving her a withering glare and dismissive flick of his left ear, still holding his teacup and saucer.

Bradford had only been a sergeant for a few, short weeks, but she was the daughter of a thirty-year Sergeant Major, who was the son of a thirty-year Sergeant Major, who was the son of a twenty-year Gunnery Sergeant who stormed the beaches of Iwo Jima. She channeled every ounce of her anger into that lineage as she lowered her borrowed side-arm and glared right back. “The fuck you are!”

“I beg your pardon,” the officer frowned at her, glancing across her uniform, “Soldier.”

“Sergeant, sir, and I did not stutter.” She thrust her free hand out to point at Rinn. “He is no deserter! He is a braver man than any of you standing here!” She glared across the gathered crowd, then turned back to the officer. “When we charged in to save your asses from route, when all the rest of you had run away and left him to die, my squad found Second Artificer Ahyat still on the front lines! Standing toe-to-toe with a fucking gemblade!”

She took a breath as a murmur of disbelief rolled through the crowd. “When we threw the elves back on their heels and the rest of your army held in place, he alone, out of your entire fucking army, charged forward with us. He saved my entire battalion from an elven ambush that day!”

She glared at the keshmin who had read the charges, recognizing the distinctive stripe pattern she had seen back in the shop. “He didn’t join you here because he never retreated! He joined up with my squad because you were all gone! He thought you were all dead, and he had nowhere else to go!” She turned back to the officer. “He was assigned to my squad by your own Supreme Commander! He joined us in the attack on the elves’ base camp, and saved us all again when the elves counter-attacked! He charged a goddamn mage tower alongside us, shielding us long enough to get javelins inside its shield bubble and take it out! He’s been training with us and the rest of the artificers sent to develop joint tactics with us ever since.” She glared at the officer, daring him to try her. “If he were a Marine, he would’ve earned the goddamn Medal of Honor, and you assholes are trying to hang him for fucking desertion!”

The keshmin officer met her glare, his chin raised, ears swept back at a precise angle.

She hefted the pistol. “If you don’t cut him free right goddamn now, I’ll put a fucking bullet between your eyes!”

The officer narrowed his eyes as his ears swept low. He had barely moved a muscle, otherwise. “Are you threatening me, sergeant?”

“I don’t answer to you, sir, and you’re trying to murder one of my men as we speak!” She jabbed her free hand at the executioner, who was casually leaning on the rope strung around Rinn’s neck. It was drawn tight over the frame, and he was nearly lifted off his toes by it. “I’ll threaten whomever the hell I goddamn please!” She raised the pistol, pointing it at the officer.

Behind her, the squad had fanned out, doing their best to look mean and nasty. Things would go badly if they were swarmed, but they were putting on their best show, and she loved them for it.

The officer continued to stare at her, unflinching, through narrowed eyes. “And do you have any proof of your claims?”

“Proof? You want proof?” She reached up with her free hand and scrabbled open her breast pocket. Please, oh please tell me I transferred it to this uniform ... Please let it be there … Yes! She sent silent thanks to her neurotic habit of always moving anything in certain pockets into whatever uniform she wore.

She yanked a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. “Here’s your proof!” She held it out. “A copy of his orders attaching him to my squad, signed by Lord General Yangri, himself!”

The officer flicked an ear at an aide, and the keshmin cautiously walked over to take the paper. “Slack that rope, Pikemaster,” he called, glaring at the executioner. “I’ve told you before, there will be no jig-dancing in this Line.”

The executioner glumly swept his ears back and released the rope. She heard Rinn take a desperate gasp of air as he dropped back to his heels.

The aid carefully unfolded the paper and started reading it. His eyes narrowed, then shot wide and his ears perked upright in alarm. He turned and quickly passed it to the officer.

“He has a copy in the pocket of his own blouse,” she spat, “Which you would have seen if you had ever let him speak!”

The officer’s ears perked up as he read the paper, then swept low. “Hm. It would seem that an apology is in order.” He flicked his ears out and back. “Cut him loose.” The executioner hesitated, and he turned to glare at him. “Don’t get creative, Yeyesh. Cut him free.”

Yeyesh twitched his ears back and grumbled, but obediently untied the rope around Rinn’s wrists.

No sooner were his hands free than he was ripping the noose from his neck, followed by the hood. Blinking in the daylight, he stumbled off the platform and towards the Marines, who quickly surrounded him.

Bradford lowered the pistol and returned it to the Marine she had borrowed it from. “And his stuff?”

The officer looked up at the striped keshmin and flicked an imperative ear at him. He slouched and walked away, and the officer turned back to Bradford. “My apologies, Sergeant. We received a tip that we might find a deserter slinking around the pawn shops. It would seem that tip was in error.”

“I think you can safely shoot the bastard as unreliable, sir.” He gave her a snort, and flicked his ears up in amusement.

The striped keshmin returned. He handed Kimber a bundle that was Rinn’s blouse, undershirt, and shoulder bag. Rinn broke away from Dubois, who was holding him up, and stumbled over to desperately paw through it. “Where are the bands?” He looked up at the striped keshmin. “Where are my mother’s wedding bands?”

“Second Pike Kolei,” the officer growled, glaring him. “Give him his things.”

The striped keshmin sheepishly lowered his ears. He pulled a small bundle from inside his tunic and handed it to Rinn.

Rinn grabbed the bundle, pulling the cloth away and urgently inspecting the gold wrist bands before clutching them to his chest and falling to his knees in relief.

“All of it, Kolei,” the officer said, still staring at him.

Kolei grimaced, his ears drooping again, and he pulled a coin purse from the other side of his tunic and passed it over.

With a frown, Bradford stepped up against Kolei, getting right into his personal space. Like the gate sentry, he was shorter than Rinn, and she pushed her chest against his, making their mass difference abundantly clear. “If you ever try to fuck with Rinn, or anyof my Marines ever again,” she growled, locking her eyes onto his and committing his face and name to memory. “I will fucking rip your goddamn heart out through your fucking asshole, do you understand me?”

He gulped, and nodded, his ears flat against his skull as he cowered back from her.

“The same goes for any of you!” She said, sweeping her gaze over the crowd. Perhaps I’m reaching my limits here,she thought, probably time to cut and run … She was about to turn back to the officer and bid him adieu, but stopped dead as her eyes fell across a familiar tawny, arrogantly-noble face.

They both froze as they made eye contact, and the bottom of her stomach dropped out. He was there the entire time!

She saw red.

“YOU SONOFABITCH!”

Bradford dove headlong into the crowd after him, sending pikemen tumbling out of her way.

He tried to evade her, but the crowd was packed too tight.

Her hand grabbed his tunic, and she was already hauling him back out of the crowd by the time Gomez and Kawalski waded in after her. They shoved keshmin away from her, ensuring she had a clear path back.

She dragged Lord Anyo into the open. “YOU KNEW!” She smashed her fist into his smug little face, still holding him by his tunic. “YOU WERE THERE THE WHOLE TIME!” She hauled back and slammed his face again. She felt something crack, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t her fist. “YOU WERE GOING TO LET HIM HANG!” she hauled back again, but strong arms caught her and she was pulled away.

Released from her grasp, Anyo slumped to the ground as she struggled against the Marines, screaming in rage, barely held back. I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL HIM!

“Sergeant! Jabs! JABS! You got him!”

Her chest heaved as the red faded and she slowly stopped straining against Kawalski and Gomez. Dubois was in front of her, desperately trying to get her to snap out of her blind rage.

Their precarious situation came rushing back, and she realized just how close to completely fucked they could all be. She forced herself to relax, sagging just a little, and Kawalski and Gomez cautiously released her.

She took a deep breath and straightened, struggling to regain her composure. She took her cover off and ran a hand over her hair before squaring it back on her head. Professional. Gotta stayprofessional.

But the fury still remained.

Her eyes narrowed, and she turned to face the officer. He remained seated on his drumhead, prim and proper and ramrod straight. His ears were perked, but he still held the teacup calmly in one hand. She could barely keep her whole body from trembling in rage. “Is Lord Anyo the source of your tip, sir?”

He met her gaze evenly and said nothing, but the flick of his ears told her all she needed to know.

She gave him a small nod, and turned to her squad. “Dubois, Miller, take him.” She nodded at Anyo.

“Aye, Sergeant.” They bent and picked up the unconscious keshmin between the two of them.

I should probably say something in parting to that officer, but I don’t trust myself to … Probably best to just go.“Let’s get back to base.” She turned and led the squad out of the Royal Host camp. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off and her rage cooled, she had to struggle against the tremors that wanted to seize her whole body. Her right hand throbbed, and muscles she didn’t know she had ached, but she dared not show any of it.

Keshmin parted like the Red Sea before them. Once clear of the camp, they turned and she led them towards the supply trucks.

“Remind me never to piss her off,” Santelli muttered.

“She was only sayin’ what needed sayin’,” Brickle whispered. “She was just damn fuckin’ aggressive about it.” He shrugged. “My ass was one of the ones Shields saved. He’s one of us in my book, fuzzy tail or no.” Bradford pretended not to hear them.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” Dubois said, walking next to her.

“Heh,” she snorted. “Yeah.”

“Well, at least it’s over.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Nope, it’s not. I’ve still gotta explain to the chain of command why I just caused what will probably be a major diplomatic incident.” She frowned, gesturing at Anyo’s limp form, being drug across the ground by two Marines. “Nevermind his attempted murder plot.”

“Yeah … Fuck …” He frowned as well.

A Blackhawk thundered overhead, and they paused, watching it circle the camps inside the walls. Turning back to the road, they saw several Humvees heading their way.

“Look at that, the Cavalry’s here!” Kawalski said. “Late as usual, but still good to see.”

“No, don’t get too excited,” Bradford said as she read the unit insignias. “It’s the goddamn Army.”

Episode 16.5

Pawl’ik tugged at a horn, fidgeting in the quiet dark of his lab. They’re late … aren’t they? Did the bell already sound? Did I miss it? He picked up the cup of tea he had made to comfort his nerves, then set it back down next to the pot, untouched.

Pushing off of his desk, he took another tour around the lab, double-checking his prototypes, making sure everything else was secure, and that nobody was hidden under a table or behind a desk. Just in case someone had secreted their way into his lab in the last fifteen minutes without him noticing. He paused, hand resting on a cart with a cloth draped over it. Maybe I shouldn’t do this … What if? No. No. He shook his head. We still have no chance. I have to ensure Srinsi and the children’s safety.

A deep bell gonged into the night. He turned to the window, and the bell tower just barely visible across the university’s courtyard. It gonged twelve times in a steady rhythm, followed by three rapid gongs, one for each extra minute of the day. Kasha’arl’s Time …

“Do you have what we came for?” a voice asked behind him.

Pawl’ik jumped and spun around, barely suppressing a yelp of fright. Standing right in front of him were three elves. The one in the center wore dull plate that still had a faint gleam despite the dim light. The other two wore all black, and were barely distinguishable from the shadows. He recognized the one who had spoken, the elf with armor. The only elf he had ever met until now.

He swallowed nervously. They were here for something bigger than anything he had ever given. But the stakes are bigger than anything they have ever offered. “I-I do,” he said, swallowing and sweeping his ears back, striving to put some steel in his voice. “Do you have the replacements, to the specifications I gave you?”

“We do,” the elf said, his voice low and sharp, his eyes narrow. Kanalin, he said his name was. “Where are the artifices?”

“Right here,” he said, removing the cloth covering the three prototypes on the cart he had wheeled them in on. More of a wheeled table, he thought before flicking away the nervous distraction.

Kanalin turned to them, giving the artifices a suspicious investigation. The other two elves never shifted their gaze from Pawl’ik. “How do we activate them?”

“They require … a substantial mana supply,” Pawl’ik fidgeted, shifting his weight. “Several large crystals each, or, a, uh … a comparable source. And the more mana, the larger the effect.” He gulped as the elf gave him a stony glare. We already discussed this.“But once the mana is supplied, the control interface is energized,” he added quickly. “It is fairly standard, and simple to use.”

“How do we properly tune them?”

“Oh, they are, they are already tuned.” He chuckled nervously, his voice cracking. “It’s hard to not tune them, actually. With the existing portal open, they naturally drift to sync with it.” He coughed to clear his throat. “All you have to do is adjust the precise location. Don’t want to open one under the ocean, or in a volcano, ha!”

“Is there anything else required to activate them?”

“No, that’s all you have to do. It’s just, uh-“

“Good,” Kanalin said, interrupting him.

Without warning, the two black-clad elves grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back. Back, and down. His eyes went wide and his ears flicked straight up. “Wh-“ was all he managed before the back of his neck was slammed into the corner of his desk. He heard the snapof his own neck, as much as felt it.

The elves released him, and he slumped to the floor. Fear flooded his mind as he lay awkwardly against the front of his desk. I can’t move! I can’t feel anything! Gods above, no …

He watched in growing horror as the elves took his tea cup and splashed its contents on his feet, before shattering both cup and pot on the ground before him. Moving swiftly but with deadly silence, they collected the three prototypes, replacing them with the fakes they had brought.

They tipped the cart over, smashing everything on the floor. A brief spark lit the lab in sharp, momentary relief as a spellburst pulsed from a mage staff he hadn’t noticed. No. No. No. Gods above and Gods below, no … The acrid odor of smoke twinged his nostrils as the dreadful, warm glow of fire began to illuminate the room.

Satisfied with their work, the elves slipped from the room as quietly as they had arrived, disappearing from sight even before the door was opened.

The flames quickly spread.

Srinsi, Kaina, Tesh’lin, I’ve failed you … I’ve betrayed you … I can’t smell the smoke anymore … I’m not breathing …

He desperately tried to hold the image of his wife and daughters in his mind as his vision faded, but his final thought was of grim satisfaction before he succumbed to the darkness. They didn’t let me tell them everything before they killed me …

Episode 17

“So, you met Corporals Kawalski and Kimber, Lance Corporal Stephens, and Private Gomez outside the city, not at the brothel.” Army Staff Sergeant Basson said, typing into a laptop.

“That is correct.” It took a lot of willpower for Bradford to not bring a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I met up with them as I was approaching the truck of food that Lieutenant Washburn was overseeing.”

“Who else did you meet there?”

“I met the rest of the squad there, or on the walk there from the city.”

“And what happened once you-“

The MP’s question was interrupted by the flap to their tent room being pulled open.

“Staff Sergeant,” an Army Sergeant leaned in. “Their chain of command is here to take them.”

The curtain was pulled further aside by Captain Spader as he marched into the room. Both she and Basson popped to attention. “Sergeant Bradford, do not answer any more questions. Muster out front with First Sergeant. Do not speak to anyone, including your squad, except as necessary to follow instructions and report their completion. Do you understand?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Bradford said, holding herself at attention.

“Then move it, Sergeant.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Bradford said, and quick-marched past her Company CO.

“The Marine Corps will conduct its own investigation from here, Staff Sergeant,” she heard him say before she was out of earshot.

Thank god for that rescue, she thought, though the look on Khatri’s face as she stepped out of the Army field tent confirmed what she already knew. This is not going to be fun. She spent the rest of the trip back to Tolkien silently reflecting on how badly she had fucked up.

*****

“What was your group doing yesterday?”

Kawalski leaned back in his chair, his relaxed disinterest not quite towing the line of being disrespectful. “We were exploring the town, checking out the local businesses, had a couple drinks.”

“How many drinks did you have?”

“Just a couple,” he shrugged. “We were on liberty, but we ain’t that far from the front an’ all.”

“Were you intoxicated when Sergeant Bradford contacted you?”

“Not really even buzzed,” he shook his head. “The keshmin stuff’s good enough, but, uh …” he reached up and rubbed the back of his head. “It’s not as strong as you’d expect.”

*****

“You were liberty buddies with Corporal Sampson, correct?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant.”

“And what did you and Corporal Sampson do after you separated from the rest of your squad?”

“Went shopping.”

“You were shopping for souvenirs?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant.”

“And where were you when Second Artificer Ahyat was detained?”

“The market.”

*****

“We started off trading a bunch of random stuff we bought at the Exchange for local money. Turns out, Shields is pretty good at haggling, set us up pretty well.”

“Shields?”

“Ahyat.” Edison said. “We call him Shields ‘cause he’s good with them, you know?”

“I see. Go on.”

“So, after we all split, I was with Dubois, Elder, and Davies.” He frowned. “Nobody really wanted to hang out with Davies, but somebody had to, and it’s usually best to keep him separate from Kawalski’s group.”

“Why’s that?”

“They, uh, don’t get along.” And Davies is a snitch.

*****

“Lance Corporal Miller was your Liberty Buddy, correct?”

“Yep! He and I toured the market. See, we both wanted to check out the local fashion scene, right? I wanted some new outfits, something exotic, you know? And Miller, he wanted to get something for his old lady and their little bean sprout.”

“So, you went shopping after you separated from the rest of your squad?”

“Oh, absolutely! We were all over the market, trying on hats, modeling for dresses, trying different fabrics. Now, my fashion sense is atrocious, mind you, but Miller, he’s a style savant! I let him dress me every time we go out.”

“So, you tried on clothes,” the Staff Sergeant said, typing into his computer.

“Not just clothes!” Sampson waved his hands between them. “We tried on jewelry, and shoes, handbags, purses, all sorts of things!”

“I don’t think the specifics of what you browsed are important,” the Staff Sergeant said, adjusting his seat. “Did you encounter any of the other groups before you got Bradford’s text message?”

*****

“And what happened after you met up with Sergeant Bradford?”

“Brah, shit got narly. I usually try not to disrupt the zen when I’m on liberty, you know? But, Jabs, man, she was seriously off her cool. And, I mean, like, of course she was, man, because these seriously unchill cats took Shields, right? So, like, I’m just tryin’ to maintain my chill, but at that point, I’m totally ready to be unchill if the situation calls for it, you know what I’m sayin’, brah?”

*****

“I realized something was up, so I sent out the mass text, then headed for the edge of town.”

“You did so by yourself? Why didn’t you link up with the nearest member of your squad?”

“I, uh,” Bradford paused, blinking. “I didn’t think about that, Master Sergeant.”

*****

“Bro, dude, we all spent, like, an hour shitting our brains out!” Elder brought both hands down flat in front of him. “That calanzi was good as fuck, but too much of it will clean you out like a drunk date with bad Mexican food. It didn’t hit right away, it took an hour or two before the piper came to claim his due, but when it did …”

He raised his hands. “Ho, boy, it hit with a vengeance. And Davies had it worst. Heaped the stuff on everything he ate.” He shook his head. “He’d only just finished his third trip to the head when we got Bradford’s text.”

*****

“Is there anyone who can corroborate your story when just you and Sergeant Bradford were together?”

Rinn cocked an ear. “My Uncle Eiyun,” he said. “We walked into his shop purely by accident, I didn’t know he was still alive. We talked with him for some time, and he directed me to the shop where I found my things, and where, I uh,” his ears twitched back. “Where I was abducted.”

*****

“After we got Sergeant Bradford’s text, we did a quick head-count of our group, then headed for the main road into the city. We didn’t run into any issues along the way, and met up with the rest of the squad maybe … thirty, forty minutes after we got the text. We ran into Kawalski’s group, and Miller and Stephens about the same time, right as we were reaching the edge of the city proper. We ran into Bradford and Lieutenant Washburn’s team shortly after that.”

“And what happened after that, Corporal?”

Dubois rolled his hands in a shrug that barely touched his shoulder. “We proceeded to the Ganlin army camp, and pushed our way inside.” His mouth twitched into a small frown. “I suppose we technically ran the guard post, but if we hadn’t showed up when we did, Shields, I mean, Second Artificer Ahyat, he would have been dead.”

*****

“Dude, she stared down that keshmin officer like he was some new boot who didn’t know how to put his face on straight, shit was badass.” Kimber leaned forward. “Then she noticed that the hangman dude was leanin’ on the rope, trying to quietly strangle Shields while everyone was distracted, and she didn’t even flinch. Just pointed Brickle’s pistol at Shields’ old CO, and told him she’d shoot him in the eye if he didn’t stop it.”

“And then what happened?”

“The dude stopped it!” Kimber leaned back. “Shit all over his guy for what he was doing, too, made it sound like it was a recurring problem.” He leaned forward again. “See, the way hanging works, it’s not really supposed to be strangling. Done right, the drop breaks your neck, and that’s what kills you. Done wrong, though, and you strangle. Was called ‘dancing the jig’ back in the day.” He grimaced. “Nasty way to go.”

He shook his head and leaned back. “The way that officer shit all over the hangman, sounded like they’d been having problems with him doing that on purpose, and the sir wasn’t having any of it.”

*****

“While we were checkin’ out the sights, I met this keshmin lady, Saishi.” Gomez smiled, leaning back in his chair. “She’s all exotic lookin’, ain’t from the main parts of Ganlin, and the translation spell thing gave her an awesome accent, too.” He sighed, remembering her words when they first met.

“Go on.”

“We spent the whole day together. Talkin’, and, uh, stuff.” He smiled sheepishly. “She’s from Kinmoi, a small kingdom to the west. Well, used to be.” He scratched his head. “They got absorbed into Ganlin when the war broke out. She came here with her family, tryin’ ta get away from problems back home, then those problems caught up to them and her pops got dragged back to Kinmoi, leaving them behind. After the war broke out, her mom got sick ‘n died, leavin’ her to take care of her baby sister and brother.”

“Where were you when you got Bradford’s message?”

“Oh, I was still with Sahla. I was actually showin’ her my phone, and tellin’ her about it, when I got the text.”

“Who is Sahla?”

“Oh, uh, Saishi. She, uh, calls herself Saishi at work, but her real name is Sahla. Sahla Yenthai.”

*****

“And what happened then?”

“Sergeant Bradford spotted that Anyo guy in the crowd, and she just fuckin’ spazzed the fuck out, man. Talkin’ mad crazy, just went fuckin’ ballistic. Dove into the crowd after him, hauled his ass out, and bro, she beat the fuckin’ shit outta him! Fuckin’ snuffed his goddamn face in, until two ‘a her guys, fuckin’, um, Kawalski and the big, dumb one … Don’t know his name. Took the both of ‘em to haul her off ‘a this dude.”

Santelli leaned back, tapping his chest with both hands. “I’m standin’ there, fingerin’ my safety, thinkin’ I’m about to have to go cyclic to keep my ass from getting pounded in by a bunch’a fur suits, but,” he threw his hands up, leaning back, “They just fuckin’ stood there and watched it all happen! Shit’s fuckin’ whack, bro.”

*****

“I was out with Edison, Dubois, and Elder. We were checking out the local cuisine, and shopping for souvenirs. Miller and Sampson hit the Market, and Bradford and Ahyat were checking the shops. Kawalski, Kimber, Gomez, and Stephens, though, I’m pretty sure they went to a brothel. They definitely smelled like sex and perfume when we all met up again.”

“Where were you when Second Artificer Ahyat was detained?”

“That was, what, around 1500?” Davies leaned back, looking up as he thought. “We were probably on the other side of town.” He frowned. “Look, something that’s been bothering me, Ahyat said that he couldn’t find his unit, he thought they were all dead, that’s why he wandered over to our camp after the battle, but that doesn’t make sense. Their Lines are, what, roughly equivalent to a battalion? There were hundreds of them there, yesterday, they were obviously not wiped out. Did he actually try to find them? Did he even actually not know that they had survived, or where they were? Smells kinda fishy, to me.”

*****

“My Lord, you’re awake!”

“I want her head.” Anyo tried to sit up.

“My Lord! Please, no, stay down.” Hands pressed against his shoulders, keeping him from rising. “You are still severely injured.” He lacked the strength to resist, and perhaps remaining in the bed was best, anyway.

“I want her head,” he repeated.

“Whose head, my lord?”

“The bitch who did this,” he said, barely lifting an arm to vaguely wave at himself. “I want her head. On a pike.”

“My lord-“

“I want her head, and I will have it,” he growled through grit teeth. “And her eyes, served on a silver platter. Roasted.”

He reached up and grabbed the healer’s smock, surprising the young keshmin with his strength. “You will send for a scribe, immediately.” He locked eyes with the man, the younger artificer’s ears slowly wilting back against his skull under the heat of Anyo’s gaze. “I must write my father.”

*****

Colonel Michaels looked up at a knock on his office door to find Major Winters standing in it, holding a small packet of archaic looking paper, complete with wax seal. “Got some mail for you, sir.”

“The hell is that, Major?” he asked, inviting her in with a slight nod.

“Real old-fashioned snail mail, sir,” she said, chuckling as she walked through the door. “No shit delivered by pony express ten minutes ago.” She frowned. “Well, it looked more like an elk than a horse, but it had a proper saddle, and came complete with a young keshmin in the Ganlin Royal Courier Service,” she turned, waving said keshmin into Michaels’ office, “Who refused to relinquish it to anyone but you or your immediate second in command,” she pointed at herself. “And who still insisted on seeing it delivered to you.”

The cream-speckled gray keshmin snapped to attention in front of his desk. “My lord,” he said, giving Michaels a small but crisp bow. “I would be utterly remiss in my duties if I did not see the letter delivered.” He straightened. “The Royal Couriers always see the message through.”

“At ease, son,” Michaels said, taking the packet from Winters as she handed it to him. “There are no lords here.”

“As you say, my lord,” the young keshmin said, shifting to an at ease posture.

Michaels snorted, inspecting the packing, smirking a bit at the old-fashioned wax seal, then frowned as he studied the lettering. Well, this is going to be a problem.

“I don’t suppose you can read?” he asked the courier as he cracked the seal and opened the packet, pulling out a multi-paged letter written in neat, flowing script.

“Of course, my lord,” the young man nodded. “It’s a requirement of the Service.”

“Good,” Michaels said, holding the papers out to him. “You can read it to me.”

“My lord!” the keshmin’s ears shot up. “I am a Courier. We are to deliver messages. Reading them is a violation of our code!”

“That’s all well and good, son,” Michaels said, giving him a patronizing frown. “But I can’t read your language.”

“Oh, uh,” the courier blinked. “Ah, right.” His ears twitched. “I suppose that, uh …” He carefully took the letter. “Such situations aren’t unheard of.”

“Good, just one second, though,” Michaels said, bringing up a word processor on his laptop. “Sergeant Ritters!” he shouted past Winters and the courier. “I need you in here!”

A moment later, the S-1 sergeant poked his head in. “You called, sir?”

Michaels spun the laptop around and pointed at one of the chairs in front of his desk. “I need your typing skills.”

“Sir?”

“I got a letter from the keshmin, but none of us can read their writing, so you’re going to transcribe it for me.”

“Aye, sir,” Ritters said, glancing at the courier as he sat down and pulled the laptop a little closer to himself. “Ready, I guess.”

The courier eyed the glowing screen of the laptop for a moment before flicking his ears and returning his attention to the letter in hand. He took a deep breath, then paused, turning the letter around to look at the envelope. “To the Commander of the Second Battalion of the Fifth Regiment of the First Marine Division of the United States Marine Corps. From Knight Captain Agyith Leishin, Acting Line Commander of the Third Line of the Fifth Regiment of the Nineth Banner of the Ganlin Royal Host …”

***

“Well, Carrol, what do you think?” Michaels asked, looking over the handwritten letter. I wonder if I could get it framed, or if it will have to be remitted as evidence. It was just the two of them in his office now. The courier had left after ensuring Ritter’s transcription was accurate, and Ritter had closed the door on his way out.

“Well, the language is flowery as all fuck, and the first page is all introductory bullshit, but when he does get around to the point of the letter, this Knight Captain Leishin guy doesn’t beat around the bush.” She leaned forward in her chair, scrolling through the document. “‘Though Sergeant Bradford’s behavior was brash and far beyond the pale of decorum and propriety for a common soldier, it proved to be entirely warranted by the urgency and unique exigency of the situation.’” Winters snorted. “’Sergeant Bradford should be commended for taking prompt and decisive action to stop a gross miscarriage of justice and to save the life of one of the men under her command.’”

She sat back. “He gives a pretty glowing commendation of her apprehending the ‘suspected attempted murderer,’ too,” she chuckled. “Though he never actually mentions Anyo by name.”

“I noticed that,” Michaels said, setting the letter on his desk. “What’s your read on that?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Winters said. “He very strongly emphasizes the guilt of the suspect, both in making false reports, and calls it a blatant attempt at murder, but he’s careful not to actually identify Anyo, except right here,” she scrolled down and pointed at the passage in question. “He very clearly describes him, he just never actually nameshim.” She shook her head. “It’s some political bullshit going on, sir.”

“That it is.” He sighed. “Fortunately, or unfortunately, we aren’t the ones who have to figure it out. This has gone way above our heads.” They shared a mutual frown for a moment, then Michaels straightened, reaching over to pull his laptop back to his side of the desk. “I’ll forward this up the chain. Is there anything else, Major?”

“No, sir, that’s it. For now.”

“Very well, Major,” he said, giving her a nod and unspoken dismissal.

“Sir,” she said, standing up, briefly bracing at attention before turning and walking out of his office.

*****

Anyo stared at the ceiling, silently waiting for the human healer to leave. His skull ached, but the pain only fueled his determination. The scribe had left, his letter sworn to be delivered, but the keshmin healer had also gone to consult with the human doctors, leaving him with just the human nurses and attendants.

He clenched his teeth as a wave of pain rolled from his brow to his snout. The humans had given him something to ease his suffering, and it did help, but both they and the proper Ganlin healer were extremely cautious of what and how much to give him, so it only dulled the pain.

As the wave passed, he sighed. Of course, we finally receive something resembling an appropriate staff for our station, and I’m still stuck surrounded by humans. He flicked an ear. At least I can take some solace in the fact that this insult would soon be answered.

The door to his room opened, and he recognized the tread of a single pair of finely-made leather boots. A glance at the window across from the door showed Yeshai’s reflection stepping into the room, and the human attendant stepping out. “Your Grace,” he said, still staring at the ceiling. “Forgive me if I don’t sit up, but the healer has instructed me to lie still and rest.”

“Of course, Lord Anyo,” The Duke said. “I was given a report on your injuries. They were … quite severe.” He paused, and Anyo could see the slight twitch of his ear in his mind’s eye. “If not for human medicine, it is likely you would not have survived.”

“If not for human insubordination, I would not have suffered them in the first place.”

“That is queshi shit, and you know it, Telmu.”

“Your Grace, I-“

“You were pursuing your personal quibbleagainst Second Artificer Ahyat, against my explicitinstructions,” Yeshai snapped. “You have defied my orders, made yourself a would-be murderer, and endangered our alliance with the humans. Do you wish to be made an enemy of the Crown?”

“Your Grace!” Anyo snarled, pushing himself to sit up, but only got halfway before he was halted by the Duke’s glare.

“We need them,” Yeshai growled, his voice low with an icy edge. “I will do whatever is necessary for the sake of the Kingdom. Right now, we need this alliance. It is the only thing keeping the elves from exterminating us. The humans don’tneed us. Without us, they continue on with their magicless wonders as they have. Without them, we die.” He leaned forward, his presence looming over Anyo even from across the room. “So, I will do whatever it takes to secure the alliance with the humans, to secure the future of the Kingdom. And if that means giving them your head on a platter, Lord Anyo, I will not hesitate.”

The Duke straightened, and with only two steps strode through the door with the weight of a monsoon.

He left Anyo staring after him in silence, broken only by the human contraption incessantly beeping in time with his heart.

*****

“Fuck, man, how many more rounds of interrogation are we going to have to go through?” Kimber asked as the squad trudged down a long hall after another day of grilling.

“Hey, at least they’re letting us talk to each other again,” Edison said.

“That’s a good sign, right?” Sampson asked

“I think so.” Dubois said.

“Yeah, we didn’t really do nothin’ wrong before we went after Shields, and he’d’a died if we hadn’t.” Gomez scuffed his boot against the concrete floor of the hall. “That Anyo fuckwad obviously was up to some fucky shit. They gotta realize that. Hopefully this’ll all blow over soon.”

“Nah, bro, we still gotta do the Safety Standdown,” Kawalski said.

“Ah, fuuuck, maan …”

“Safety Standdown?” Rinn asked quirking his ear. They have mentioned that before.

“Yup. All work stops, and we spend the whole day in safety briefs ‘n workshops ‘n lectures, talkin’ about our feelings ‘n bullshit,” Kawalski said, his voice turned froggy at the end by a hiccough.

“Heh, you would know, you’ve caused most of them for the whole battalion,” Dubious said, pushing open the door and leading the squad out of the building.

“Hey, only half!” Kawalski pointed a finger in his own defense.

Rinn flicked an ear up, his spirits lifted a little as the squad laughed at Kawalski’s antics, but his left ear dipped in Bradford’s direction as he noticed her lack of reaction. She’s been withdrawn since we got picked up on Sunday. Both ears dipped as he pondered her anxiety.

They all looked up at the chest-deep rumble of an unfamiliar aircraft roaring overhead. His ears flicked back up in awe at the enormous, double-hulled aircraft. How can they make something that huge fly?

“What the fuck is that?” Kimber said.

“Holy shit,” Edison said, “Is that …”

“Huh,” Bradford said. “I’ll be damned. That’s a fucking Stratolaunch.”

“A Stratowhatofuck?” Kawalski said.

“A Stratolaunch,” Bradford said, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she watched the giant plane climb into the distance. “It’s an air launch system. Carries rockets under the wing, between the two nacelles.” She pointed at the retreating craft, still visible despite the distance. “That thing has four rockets underneath.” She showed the first smile Rinn had seen from her in days. “We’re putting satellites into orbit!”

“Hot damn!” Edison said. “About fucking time!”

“So, like, satellite recon ‘n shit?” Kimber asked.

“Eh, maybe?” Edison shrugged. “Probably not yet, though. Probably pure science collection still, but might be stuff that could double as spy sats.” He shook his head. “Won’t get much coverage with four, but that thing was supposed to be canceled. If they’re throwing money at it to make it operational, you can bet your ass more will be coming.”

“Fuck, yeah!” Kimber said. “Let’s see the Keeblers hide from us, now!”

“What are satellites?” Rinn asked, his ears cocked in confusion to match his frown.

“Oh, bro,” Edison said, throwing an arm over his shoulder as they headed back to the barracks. “Allow me to blow your mind!”

*****

“And, of course, the Chinese and Russians are still clamoring for access to the portal.” Secretary of State Jack Andreas flipped a page over in his notebook. “The Russians are mostly just making political moves and stirring up more issues on social media, but the Chinese have moved up an SSBN patrol, and surged a whole Surface Action Group for a deployment that’s headed out of the South China Sea. They’re definitely rattling their saber a bit.” He frowned. “It’s more of a show of force than we would have expected from them, but they’re still fired up at us for spilling the beans on that SARS strain outbreak they tried to cover up last year.”

“Bastards tried to fuck the rest of the world to balance out fucking themselves!” Richards said. “It was a nasty virus, would’ve been a global pandemic if they’d gotten away with it. Their own people spilled the goddamn beans. We just helped them get past the state censors.”

Everyone in the room nodded in agreement, though some were more vehement than others.

“Still, we can’t completely shut them out forever,” Richards sighed. “This is a portal to another world. It involves all of humanity.”

“With all due respect, sir,” General Butler said, straightening the jacket of his Army uniform. “It’s on US soil. It’s our problem, our portal.”

Richards shook his head. “It opened on our soil, and we have a responsibility to make sure Earth’s interaction with Gahla isn’t fucked up, but we should not block out the rest of the world. We don’t have that right.” He chuckled. “Besides, it’s not our portal. It’s the Kingdom of Ganlin’s portal.”

“And Ganlin is steadfastly refusing to let us anywhere near the ‘artifice’ that created and controls the portal,” Andreas said. “And they have declined all offers of additional security we’ve made.”

“Can’t say I’d blame ‘em, in their shoes,” General O’Connor said, slowly spinning his blue service cap in his hands. “They were facing extermination before it opened.”

“And however much good will we’ve won with them by saving their asses, it’s only been open a month,” General Mancini said, his own barracks cover sitting in a precise location on the table beside his notepad. “Trust takes time to build.”

“Speaking of portals,” Richards said. “Have we made any progress on something that will block new portals from opening? If the keshmin can do it, what’s stopping the elves from figuring it out?”

“The artificers and researchers Ganlin sent over have been looking into that,” said Molly Panzavecchia, the Secretary of Energy. “They haven’t made much progress yet, but given the precise requirements for opening a portal in the first place, they think a portal jammer should be possible. In theory, at least, though they aren’t sure about anything that would have an effect on the scale of a whole planet.”

“And what about the idea of opening a second, waterborne portal, Jack? Is that something that we want to look into more?”

“The Ganlin have expressed a mix of interest and reluctance at the idea. The availability of commercial shipping and trade, and adding US Navy assets to the fight are very intriguing to them, but they’re also concerned about creating additional points of access to their world, nevermind the cost of opening a new portal.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, either,” said Elsbeth Irving, the Secretary of Commerce. “As much as the sea trade option could be beneficial to us and Ganlin, we already have concerns about the environmental and ecological impact of the San Diego portal. A water-based portal would be even worse.” She shook her head. “Southern California’s had enough problems with wildfires. An ecological collapse would be an economic disaster.”

“Maybe,” said the Secretary of the Interior. “The ecological factor might not be as much of a concern as we would think, though it’s too early to tell for sure.”

“What do you mean, Janice?” Richards gave her his attention.

“Well, the initial report I got yesterday says that while birds and other creatures have definitely been seen crossing both ways, they don’t seem to travel far or stay long. Bacterial samples also aren’t making any sense on either side. We’re not sure what is going on. The keshmin didn’t build any kind of environmental containment protocols into their portal, but something is having that kind of effect, though it’s not always consistent.” She shook her head. “More study and data are needed to make sense of it, but everything we have seen indicates that there is far less ecological cross-over than we would have expected.”

“Interesting.” Richards rubbed the corner of his mouth. “Keep me apprised of what our researchers find out. Unless we close the portal and never open it again, I don’t think it’s possible to prevent ecological crossover, and a water portal might become necessary, but we should try to avoid an ecological disaster if we can.” He turned to the Director of National Intelligence. “What have you got, Harry?”

“We’re still building our intelligence networks in Ganlin, but one of our assets did copy us on a report that raises a few red flags.” He tapped his pen against his notepad. “Turns out one of their lead portal researchers was recently killed in a lab accident that caused a fire. There was major damage to the building, and the contents of the lab. They found a body. It was heavily charred, but still identifiable, and the man’s neck was clearly broken. He wasn’t supposed to be in the lab that day, and didn’t have any experiments planned that could have started a fire. Three of their prototype portal devices were also destroyed in the fire. It could be an accident, but like I said, there are a few other details that raise some red flags.”

Richards nodded. “That does sound a little suspicious. I trust your judgement. If you think it’s something to look into, do what you can to investigate it. With or without Ganlin support.” He turned back to Molly. “And step up that portal jammer research.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Ah, yes, sir.” General Mancini sighed. “Some of our Marines were involved in an international … Interplanetary? Incident while on liberty over the weekend.”

“Jesus, Tom,” Butler said. “The very first day we send the Marines on liberty in this new world, and they’re already getting in trouble?”

Richards sighed, pinching his nose. “This isn’t another Okinawa incident, is it?”

“Not at all, sir.” Mancini shook his head. “The keshmin artificer our Marines adopted was almost murdered. He was framed as a deserter and almost hung for it. His squad leader intervened, and aggressively apprehended the keshmin who framed him.”

“She roped several on-duty Marines into a posse, discharged another Marine’s firearm inside the town, and assaulted a foreign officer attached to her command!” Butler said.

“She assaulted a Ganlin officer?”

“She hauled him out of the crowd and beat the living shit out of him for trying to murder one of her men, sir,” Mancini said.

“And what is Ganlin’s stance on the matter?”

Andreas sighed. “Well, Knight Captain Anyo, the officer in question, will probably want to press charges when he wakes up, but Knight Captain Leishin, the acting CO of Second Artificer Ahyat’s unit, is recommending against it. In fact, his official report commends Sergeant Bradford’s defense of her men, and indirectly recommends the Crown pursue murder charges against Lord Anyo.”

“Why the fuck was this Knight Captain trying to murder one of his own people?”

“Bad blood, sir,” Mancini said. “Anyo is a noble with a very … feudalistic mindset. Ahyat’s family are technicallyyeomen, but functionally, he’s a peasant. They had a spat where Ahyat told him off, and Anyo’s superior told him to just eat it, because he’d made an ass of himself. On top of that, Ahyat’s generally been performing well, and showing up Anyo left and right. Not on purpose, I don’t think. He’s just really good, while Anyo isn’t, and Anyo’s taken it personally.”

Richards shook his head, flipping through the report Mancini had handed him. “Any more word on Ganlin’s intentions for our Mulan character?”

“Not as yet, sir. Best impression we’ve got is that they’re still stuck between the embarrassment and the strategic need for a battlefield savant.”

“Well, make it clear we don’t give a shit and will gladly have her.” He set the report down. “And draft up some asylum requests. If Ganlin goes sour on either of them, America’s arms are open.”

“The keshmin might not like that, sir.”

“They can cry all they want, they need us more than we need them.”

“What about Sergeant Bradford?” O’Conner asked. “Are we going to allow the precedent of enlisted Marines assaulting allied officers?”

“An officer who is an attempted murderer …” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff muttered.

“Alleged,” said the Chief of Naval Operations.

Richards sighed. “How the Marine Corps disciplines its Marines is the Corps’ business, not mine, so long as it’s in accordance with regulation. If Ganlin doesn’t want to make a big stink about this, I see no need to.”

He pushed his chair back and stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I’ve got another briefing in 20 minutes, and I’d like to take a shit before then.”

Mixed chuckles drifted around the room as the men and women collected their reports and stood themselves.

“Dave,” he said, looking at the Secretary of the Navy. “I’m still expecting to see those contingency plans for naval operations on Ganlin, with and without another portal, and Goldfinch.”

“Of course, Mr. President.”

“Dismissed.”

*****

Bradford stepped up to the doorway. It wasn’t any fancier than any of the other rapidly-built, prefab doors scattered across the base, but the nameplate on this one carried a particular weight. Lt. Colonel Henry A. Michaels – CO, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines.

With a deep breath, she loudly rapped twice on the door. “Enter,” came from inside, and she pushed through.

Shutting the door behind her, she sharply marched forward to stand at crisp attention in front of the desk. “Sergeant Bradford, reporting as ordered, sir.” She felt Sergeant Major Barakis’ eyes boring into her as he glared at her from the side of the room, but she kept her gaze locked forward. Major Thomas Blas, Echo Company’s Staff Judge Advocate, stood next to Michaels’ desk, across from Barakis. Major Winters stood next to him.

Michaels eyed her up and down for a moment, then nodded at Blas.

“Sergeant Bradford,” he said, picking up a clipboard and reading from it. “Under Article 31 of the UCMJ, no person subject to this chapter may compel any person to incriminate himself, or to answer any question the answer to which may tend to incriminate him. No person subject to this chapter may interrogate, or request any statement from, an accused or a person suspected of an offense without first informing him of the nature of the accusation and advising him that he does not have to make any statement regarding the offense of which he is accused or suspected and that any statement made by him may be used as evidence against him in a trial by court-martial. No person subject to this chapter may compel any person to make a statement or produce evidence before any military tribunal if the statement or evidence is not material to the issue and may tend to degrade him. No statement obtained from any person in violation of this article, or through the use of coercion, unlawful influence, or unlawful inducement may be received in evidence against him in a trial by court-martial.”

He lowered the paper and looked at Bradford. “Do you understand your Article 31 rights, Sergeant Bradford?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes, sir.” It was all she could do to keep her voice from cracking as she felt the eyes of her battalion’s triad boring into her. Her locked muscles were the only thing keeping her from shaking.

Blas looked back down at his clipboard. “Sergeant Bradford, you are suspected of the following offences, committed on Five July 2020 at approximately fifteen thirty, while serving as Second Squad Leader of Echo Company, Second Battallion, 5th Marine Regiment, 1st MarDiv, reinforced.” He took a deep breath.

“Article 90 of the UMCJ in that you assaulted a commissioned officer of the Ganlin Royal Host to wit: you physically laid hands on Knight Captain Anyo, dragged him out of a crowd, and repeatedly struck him, inflicting grievous injury and rendering him unconscious.

“Article 90 of the UMCJ in that you raised a harm-inflicting weapon aggressively at a commissioned officer of the Ganlin Royal Host to wit: you raised a M17 service pistol borrowed from another Marine in threat against Knight Captain Leishin, Acting Line Commander 3rd Line, 5th Regiment, 9th Banner, Ganlin Royal Host.

“Article 92 of the UCMJ in that you failed to obey the leave and liberty policy of 5th Marine Regiment to wit: you allowed yourself to become separated from your designated Liberty Buddy, failed to report the loss of your Liberty Buddy through the proper chain of command, failed to follow established protocol for separation from your Liberty Buddy, and failed to follow the policy on restricted areas by entering the Ganlin Royal Host camp.

“Article 97 of the UCMJ in that you unlawfully detained Knight Captain Anyo to wit: you pulled Knight Captain Anyo out of a crowd of Ganlin soldiers, rendered him unconscious, and carried him away from the army camp of the Ganlin Royal Host without direction or authorization.

“Article 116 of the UCMJ in that you engaged in riot against forces of the Ganlin Royal Host to wit: you led members of Echo Company in a display of threats and physical violence against members of the 3rd Line, 5th Regiment, 9th Banner of the Ganlin Royal Host.

“Article 117 of the UCMJ in that you made provoking speech against another person to wit: you threatened Knight Captain Leishin, Acting Line Commander 3rd Line, 5th Regiment, 9th Banner, Ganlin Royal Host with the statement that you would, quote, put a bullet between your eyes, end quote.

“Article 124 of the UCMJ in that you maimed Knight Captain Anyo to wit: you repeatedly and forcefully struck Knight Captain Anyo, inflicting the following deforming injuries: a broken orbital, a broken cheekbone, and a globe rupture of the left eyeball.

“Article 134 in that you assaulted Knight Captain Anyo with the intent to commit voluntary manslaughter to wit: in a blind rage, you dragged Knight Captain Anyo out of a crowd and repeatedly struck him with great force until physically dragged away from him by other Marines, inflicting grievous injury and placing him into a life-threatening coma.

“Article 134 in that you willfully and wrongfully discharged a firearm to wit: you discharged a borrowed M17 service pistol three times inside an occupied army camp of the Ganlin Royal Host, within the limits of the city of Tyenyai.

“Article 134 in that you wrongfully interfered with an adverse administrative proceeding to wit: you disrupted the lawful judicial proceedings of the Commander of the 3rd Line, 5th Regiment, 9th Banner, Ganlin Royal Host in the judgment of a suspected deserter.

“Article 134 in that you recklessly endangered members of Echo Company to wit: you led members of Echo Company to trespass in force onto the Ganlin Royal Host army camp at Tyenyai and stand off against substantial Royal Host forces in that camp.

“Article 134 in that you disrespected a sentinel to wit: you confronted, and led other Marines in an assault against Piker Yushn, 8th Line, 2nd Regiment, 2nd Banner, Ganlin Royal Host while he was acting as a Gate Sentry, breaching his post.”

Each article struck like a hammer blow as an enormous weight fell on her shoulders. She could hear the blood rushing through her ears as her world turned hollow.

“Do you understand the charges laid against you, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, staring at a hole in space behind Colonel Michaels.

“Then sign for your understanding of your Article 31 rights, and the charges of which you are suspected,” Blas said, handing her the clipboard and a pen.

“Aye, sir,” she said, mechanically taking both and skimming the page before signing the appropriate block at the bottom. She handed the clipboard back.

“At ease, Sergeant,” Michaels said.

Bradford shifted to the correct posture, though not a single muscle in her body was relaxed.

“Tell me what happened, Sergeant.” Michaels’ gaze was frighteningly neutral.

“Sir,” Bradford said. She swallowed. “We were exploring the town, sir, and I was helping Ahyat look for a number of personal items that were lost in the Route.”

“What was the rest of your squad doing?”

“I … don’t specifically know, sir.”

“You don’t know, Sergeant?” Barakis said. “How do you not know what your squad was doing?”

“I- I haven’t talked to them much about what they were doing, Sergeant Major. I- I think Sampson and-“

“You think Sergeant?” Barakis’ voice cut harder than a pissed off Drill Sergeant, and Bradford instinctively snapped back to attention. “What was their liberty plan, Sergeant?”

“I- I don’t know, Sergeant Major.”

“You don’t know? Did you havea liberty plan, Sergeant Bradford?”

“No, Sergeant Major.”

“You lead a squad of Marines on liberty in a foreign city, the first time ANY member of the US Armed Forces have done so in Ganlin, and you didn’t have a liberty plan?”

“No, Sergeant Major.”

“Why not, Sergeant Bradford?”

“I didn’t think of it, Sergeant Major.”

“You didn’t think, Sergeant Bradford. You. Didn’t. Think.”

“No, Sergeant Major. I did not.”

Barakis exhaled through his nose, pinning her with his glare, before he turned and paced away.

“How did you become separated from Second Artificer Ahyat, Sergeant?” Michaels asked as if his senior enlisted advisor hadn’t just been screaming in her face.

Bradford took a deep breath. “I had to use the head, sir. There was a public outhouse in the square outside the shop we were in, and I left to use it while Ahyat remained in the shop. He said he would wait for me in front of the store if I wasn’t back before he was done there.” She could feel Barakis’ eyes boring into the back of her skull, but he said nothing to interrupt her.

“How long were you in the head?”

“Fifteen or twenty minutes, sir.”

“And when you came out?”

“I walked back to the shop, but Ahyat wasn’t there. I went inside, and he wasn’t there, either. I asked the shopkeeper about him, and he told me keshmin soldiers took him. I knew something was up, and that he hadn’t gone willingly.”

“How did you know something was wrong?”

“There was a half-eaten candy bar on the ground in front of the shop, sir. Ahyat had packed a couple of them, but he hadn’t traded any, and I’ve never seen him abandon food. Ever.”

“What did you do next, Sergeant?”

“I sent out a text in the squad group chat, sir. I told everyone that Ahyat was in trouble and to meet me at the Ganlin army camp.”

“Did you attend the liberty brief I gave, Sergeant Bradford?” Barakis snapped.

“Yes, Sergeant Major.”

“Did you sleep through it, Sergeant Bradford?”

“No, Sergeant Major.”

“Then how the fuck did you miss the part where I specifically said the Ganlin Royal Host camp was off limits?”

“I didn’t miss it, Sergeant Major.”

“Do you take me seriously, Sergeant Bradford?” Barakis was suddenly right next to her, looming over her shoulder.

“Yes, Sergeant Major!” She kept her eyes locked forward, not daring to even shift her posture.

“Do you think I’m a joke, Sergeant Bradford?”

“No, Sergeant Major!”

“Do you think you can disregard my orders? Disregard the orders of your Battalion Commander?”

“No, Sergeant Major!”

“Then why the fuck did you and your squad to do just that, Sergeant Bradford?”

Even seeing where he was going with his questions, Bradford found herself at a loss for words before Barakis. “I- I-“

“Do you make a habit of disobeying orders, Sergeant Bradford?”

“No, Sergeant Major!”

“Do you think it’s okay to disobey orders, Sergeant Bradford?”

“No, Sergeant Major!”

“Then why the fuck did you think it was okay to do just that, Sergeant Bradford?”

“One of my men was in danger, Sergeant Major!” Bradford shouted; her eyes locked on the wall behind Colonel Michaels.

She felt Barakis’ eyes boring into the side of her skull. “What did you do about that, Sergeant?”

“I mustered my squad, and went after him, Sergeant Major!”

“And what were you supposed to do, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Call for help and inform my chain of command, Sergeant Major.”

“Why didn’t you, Sergeant Bradford? You ran into Lieutenant Washburn, why didn’t you let her call for help and let the command handle the situation?”

Because Rinn would have died … But I didn’t know that …“I … I don’t know, Sergeant Major. Time felt short. I didn’t think I could-“

“You. Didn’t. Think.Sergeant Bradford. That’s the problem.” Barakis turned away from her, pacing to the other side of the room.

“What did you do after you linked up with the rest of your squad, Sergeant?” Michaels’ voice remained stone cold and calm, and he left her at attention.

“We headed for the Ganlin camp, sir.”

“With just your squad?”

“No, sir. I asked Lieutenant Washburn to borrow a couple of her riflemen, and she gave me two. Lance Corporals Brickle and Santelli, sir.”

“So, you took two armed Marines, and a dozen unarmed Marines in their Alphas, to storm an army camp that was home to roughly a quarter of the entire Ganlin Royal Host?”

“I- N-“ She wanted to deny it, but realized she couldn’t argue the point. “Yes, sir,” she said, her shoulders sagging slightly as she acknowledged the absurdity of it.

“Go on.”

She took another deep breath. “We- Iconfronted the sentry at the main gate into the Ganlin camp. He denied us entry, but I led the squad in pushing past him.”

“How did you find Second Artificer Ahyat’s unit?”

“Lance Corporal Stephens did, sir. He spotted their unit banners.” In typical space cadet fashion, she thought, remembering his exact words: ‘Brah, those flag things look like the patch on Shields’ old uniform!’

“And what happened when you got there?”

She swallowed, her heart pounding as the scene flashed in her mind. “They were about to hang him, sir. His CO had just given the order, they were about to string him up. I had to do something to stop it, so I ordered Brickle to give me his sidearm, and fired three times into the air.”

“And why the fuck did you think that was a good idea, Sergeant Bradford?” Barakis was back at her side, shouting into her ear.

“I didn’t think, Sergeant Major!”

“That’s fucking obvious!” He shook his head. “Did the Marine Corps ever teach you firearm safety, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Yes, Sergeant Major!”

“Were you ever taught target discipline, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Yes, Sergeant Major!”

“Do you know what happens to things that go up, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Yes, Sergeant Major.”

“And what happens to things that go up, Sergeant Bradford?”

“They come back down, Sergeant Major.”

“Did you forget any of that, Sergeant Bradford?”

“No, Sergeant Major.”

“Are you fucking lying to me, Sergeant Bradford?”

“No, Sergeant Major!”

“Are you sure, Sergeant Bradford? Because it damn sure sounds like you forgot all of it! Do you think you’re god damn John Wayne, Sergeant Bradford?”

“No, Sergeant Major!”

“Do you think this is a movie, or the Wild West, where you can just pop shots off whenever you fucking feel like it?”

“No, Sergeant Major!”

“Then why the fuck did you think this was a good idea?”

“I- I didn’t-“

“You. Didn’t. Think, Sergeant Bradford.” Barakis turned away, and Bradford bit the inside of her cheek to maintain composure.

Michaels allowed her to stand in silence for several seconds before continuing the questioning. “What happened next, Sergeant?”

“I confronted Ahyat’s CO, sir. We argued. I told him, and …” She took a breath. “And his whole unit off for thinking Ahyat was a deserter.” She paused, struggling to form coherent words. “Then I noticed the hangman was pulling up on Ahyat’s noose, strangling him, and I, uh, I threatened to shoot his CO if he didn’t put a stop to it.”

“You threatened to shoot an officer,” She could feel Barakis’ gaze boring into her once more. He wasn’t shouting this time.

“Yes, Sergeant Major.”

“Are you aware of the penalty for threatening an officer, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Yes, Sergeant Major. He was trying to kill one of my men, Sergeant Major.”

“One of his men, Sergeant. One of the men under his command.”

“He is still one of my men, too, Sergeant Major, and he was wrong. I couldn’t let him just kill Ahyat!”

She felt Barakis staring at her, but he gave no further response.

“How did the Knight Captain take that, Sergeant Bradford?”

“He, uh, he chewed the hangman out, sir.”

“You threatened to shoot him, and in response, he chewed one of his own men out?”

“Yes, sir. The … Knight Captain, he was very calm and composed through the whole thing, sir.”

“Go on.”

She took another breath. “After he got done chewing out the hangman, he asked if I had any proof of what I said, and I did. I had a copy of Ahyat’s orders in my blouse pocket.”

“Why did you have a copy of his orders on you?”

“Neurotic habit, sir. I keep certain things in certain pockets, and everything gets moved when I change uniforms. It was an extra copy, but I figured it would be good to hang onto, and just never got around to moving it out of my uniform, sir.”

“I see. So, you showed him the copy of Ahyat’s orders.”

“Yes, sir, and he immediately ordered him cut loose, and had his things returned to him.”

Michaels gave her a slight wave of his hand, prompting her to continue.

“We had Ahyat back, and he got his stuff back, and at that point I decided it was best to just get out of there while we were ahead, and before anyone decided to do anything stupid.” She grimaced, taking a breath. “I took one more glance at the crowd that had gathered to watch the … execution. And that’s when I saw him, Lord Anyo, sir.”

“And what did you do when you saw him?”

“I- I don’t really remember, sir. I recognized him, and the whole situation just clicked. Then I saw red, everything just went red, and … I don’t really remember anything after that, until Kawalski and Gomez pulled me off him.” That fact scared her as much as anything else. “I saw him in the crowd, then everything went red, then he was out of the crowd and Kawalski and Gomez were pulling me off him, and I remembered where we were at and what was going on. I went limp, to let them know I was done, and they stood me back up. I ordered a couple of the guys to grab Anyo, and then we all left. Nobody stopped us, not even the gate sentry, not until we ran into the Army unit responding to the gunfire.”

“You don’t remember assaulting Knight Captain Anyo?” Barakis asked.

“No, Sergeant Major.”

“You broke his skull, Sergeant! You punched him so hard, his eye ruptured and popped out of its socket! You don’t remember any of that?”

“No, Sergeant Major.”

“Do you know that we’re in a time of war, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Yes, Sergeant Major.”

“Do you know what the penalty assaulting an officer, in a time of war, Sergeant Bradford?”

She swallowed. “Yes, Sergeant Major.”

“What is that penalty, Sergeant?”

“Death, Sergeant Major.” Her face felt hollow.

“What is the penalty for threatening an officer, in a time of war?”

“Death, Sergeant Major.” Her stomach fell away.

“The penalty for rioting?”

“Death, Sergeant Major.” She felt the blood draining from her face.

“Disobeying orders?”

“Death, Sergeant Major.” A distant, ringing drone filled her ears, and she had to fight against the bile that rose in her throat.

“All twelve of these charges can carry the death penalty in time of war, do you understand that, Sergeant?”

“Yes, Sergeant Major.”

“Do you understand how much you have fucked up, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Yes, Sergeant Major,” she said, gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering, her arms clenched against her side as much to keep herself from shaking as to maintain at attention.

“I don’t have any more questions for you today, Sergeant Bradford,” Michaels said. “You will be informed when I have made my decision.”

“Your decision, sir?”

“On whether or not to recommend you for court martial. You are dismissed, Sergeant.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Somehow, she managed to make her about-face parade ground perfect. She marched to the door with crisp precision, her back as stiff as a ramrod.

It was barely closed behind her before the tears came, and she had to clamp both hands over her mouth to stifle her cries.

*****

The door shut behind Bradford, and Michaels leaned forward to scrub his face with his hands. “Well, that was painful.”

“You’re damn fucking right, it was,” Barakis said, pacing about the room. Realizing what he was doing, he stopped and took a calming breath. He turned back to the desk and took a seat, heaving a sigh as he let the tension flow away.

“Do you have any thoughts, Major Blas?” Michaels lifted his head, looking at the JAG officer.

“Well, she could probably make a decent argument to get anything she just said thrown out of court,” he flipped a hand, rolling his eyes, “But I have a sneaking suspicion you weren’t trying to get a convicting testimony, Sergeant Major.”

“Heh,” Barakis’ lips twisted in a half-smirk, half-grimace. “I might have gotten a little carried away, but she’d never have been brought in like this for any court-admissible affidavit.”

“And your opinion, Major Winters?”

“It’s a clusterfuck, sir.” She shook her head, her face twitching into a frown. “If we really wanted to, we could easily pull up another dozen UCMJ violations to charge her with for what she did, but at the same time …” She shook her head. “If she hadn’t done what she did, Anyo would have succeeded in his murder plot.”

“Alleged murder plot,” Blas said.

Barakis waved a hand at him, but didn’t argue the point. “She took swift and decisive action to save one of her men, but she completely lost it at the end.” He shook his head.

“Yeah,” Michaels sighed. “If she hadn’t lost control at the end, we could probably just brush everything else under the rug.” He paused. “Well, maybe not completely, but we could handle it at a much lower level.”

Barakis nodded, and Blas shrugged his eyebrows in silent agreement. “Given that other recommendation we just sent up, any issues would probably have gotten dropped pretty quick.”

Michaels snorted. “Yeah, I’m not looking forward to thatconversation.” He frowned, then took a deep breath, pushing himself back from his desk. “Do you have the paperwork I’m going to need for this, Major?”

“Yes, sir.” Blas set a folder on his desk. “I’ll be in my office if you have any questions, sir. Captain Holt should be stopping by with the results of his investigation. I’ll advise you on that report once it is complete.”

“Very well, Major,” Michaels said, nodding at him as he left. He pulled the folder to his side of the desk, and with great reluctance, began flipping through the papers inside.

***

Three hours later, Michaels frowned as he read through the compiled report on the preliminary investigation into the Ganlin Camp incident for the second time. He had multiple generals to brief in forty minutes, and he wanted to be able to speak intelligently.

A light knock on the frame of his open door pulled his attention away.

“Colonel Michaels?” A man stood in his doorway, slightly leaning into the office. In his mid-thirties, with a hairline that was just starting to recede, he wore business attire and was clearly a civilian.

“Can I help you?” Michaels asked, looking up from the report. If the man had made it past the admin section working outside his office, he had some importance.

“John Weller,” he said with a smile. “State Department. I’m here on behalf of the President.”

“Come on in, Mr. Weller, and shut the door.” Michaels suppressed a sigh. Fuck.

“Of course, Colonel,” Weller said, stepping into the office and doing so.

Michaels waved at one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Weller slipped into the chair with relaxed ease, bringing one leg up to rest an ankle on his knee.

“And what can I do for the State Department, and the President, Mr. Weller?”

“This is just a courtesy visit, Colonel,” Weller said. “I’ve already spoken to General Harley and General Zoroiwchak. I’m sure they would have called you already if they weren’t stuck in back-to-back meetings.” He folded his hands in his lap, shifting in his seat. “I’m here about this incident with one of your Marines and a Ganlin officer.”

Damn. I knew it was going all the way up, but I didn’t expect it to come back down this fast. Michaels held his poker face. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. “Yes, that,” he said. “And how does the President want this to be handled?”

“The President doesn’t have an opinion,” Weller gave him a small shake of his head. “So long as Ganlin isn’t interested in pursuing the matter, which they don’t appear to be, he sees no reason to tell the Marine Corps how to handle its business, so long as it operates in accordance with regulation.”

Michaels narrowed his eyes, studying the man for a moment. “I’m an old infantryman, Mr. Weller, if there’s some hidden meaning in what you’re telling me, you’re going to have to be more blunt.”

“No hidden meaning, Colonel,” Weller laughed. “The President’s orders are that the Marine Corps is to handle this matter however the Marine Corps sees fit. The President will back whatever is decided.”

Weller sat up, tapping the armrest of his chair. “That’s all I had to say, Colonel.” He stood up. “Like I said, just a courtesy visit.” He pulled a business card out and offered it to Michaels. “If there’s anything I or the State Department can help you with, give me a call.”

Michaels stood, accepting the card. “Thank you, Mr. Weller. If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.”

“You do that, Colonel. Have a good day!” With a smile, he turned and walked out of the office, leaving the door open behind him.

Michaels liked at the card, then sat back down. He frowned, twiddling it between his fingers, lost in thought. “Huh.”

*****

Rinn dropped down on his rack, still slowly toweling water out of his fur.

He would dry himself off more vigorously, but his arms were barely more than limp noodles, and lightly pawing at the towel on his head was about all he could manage at the moment. This investigation has brought everything else to a skidding halt, but apparently nothing stops PT.

“Hey, where’s Jabs?” Davies asked “I haven’t seen her all day.”

“Sergeant got called in to talk to the CO,” Dubois said. “Don’t know what it’s about.”

“That’s not good,” Kimber said.

“She’s been there all day?” Sampson asked.

“Yeah.” Dubois knelt down to stow his toiletries kit in his bag. “Since zero-nine this morning.”

“Fuck.”

The outer door opened, then slammed shut on its spring, echoing down the hall. A slow set of footsteps followed. A moment later, Bradford trudged into the bunk room. Rinn’s ears snapped up as soon as he saw her, and he pulled the towel off his head. She looks like someone died.

Silence fell over the room as everyone took notice. She walked to her bunk with hollow steps, standing next to it a moment before turning and sitting down like an automaton. Oblivious to the squad watching her, she sat and stared past the wall. Her only movement was her jaw, clenching and unclenching, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the edge of her cot.

Rinn stood up, stepped around his own cot, and walked across the few steps of extra space she had been given to separate her rack. Carefully, quietly, he sat down next to her and waited.

“Oh, hey, guys!” Kawalski shouted, loudly clapping his hands. “I heard earlier that the Air Force’s got a new rec room set up, complete with a flight simulator pod. We should totally go try it out!”

“Brah! I’ve, like, always wanted to try that!”

“Yeah,” Dubois said, glancing at Bradford and Rinn before throwing his boots on and grabbing his cover. “Yeah, that sounds like a fun idea.”

“Are they even gonna let us use it?” Gomez asked.

“Ha! Since when has that ever stopped us?” Kimber said, heading for the door. “Let’s go!”

“You know, I think I’ll stay an-“ Davies got out, before Sampson jammed Davies’ cover on his head and pushed him towards the door.

“C’mon, man,” Elder said, grabbing his arm and hauling him out of the bunk room. “Let’s go have some fun!”

“Yeah! Hurry up, let’s go!” Kawalski shouted. “Move it, Marines!”

Seconds later, the outer door was slamming behind the last of them.

Rinn’s left ear twitched as he watched them go, his right ear still locked on Bradford. As silence descended, he turned back to her. Both ears flicked up in realization. She’s struggling to not show tears!

Slowly, he reached out and lightly placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned and looked at him, tears welling in her eyes. He saw fear, loss, and despair in her eyes, and his heart lurched. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her jaw quivering as her composure cracked, then she leaned over and buried her face in his shoulder. She clung to him like a life raft. With a single cry, a dam burst and the tears came as she sobbed into his shoulder.

At least my fur’s still damp, popped into his head before he could chase the thought away, berating himself for even worrying about it. He brought his arms up and wrapped them firmly around her, slowly rocking back and forth as he gently nuzzled the side of her head.

***

Rinn lay on his rack, staring up at the shadowed ceiling. Bradford was asleep on her bunk, exhausted after her ordeal. She said she didn’t think she would be able to sleep, but by the time I returned from turning the lights off, she was hard out.

His ears twitched as the outer door of their barracks opened, followed by the shuffle of feet as the rest of the squad returned. The barracks room door opened, and Rinn clicked his flashlight on, aimed at the door, halting the first Marine through in his tracks. He clicked it off. “Shhh,” he said, projecting the whisper across the room.

The shush was quickly passed down the line, and the squad quietly snuck back into the room, with a mix of snorts and muffled chuckles, eye rolls, and annoyed grumbles. From their whispered comments and muffled laughs, Rinn gathered that the thing Kawalski had decided to do had turned out to be a bust, but they had still managed to sneak into an Air Force barracks, steal all their toilet paper, and used it to creatively decorate another Air Force unit’s barracks.

As the squad settled down in their own racks, Rinn felt a pair of eyes boring into him. A glance in the dark revealed Davies staring at him. The Marine continued his glare, even as Rinn rolled over and tried to get to sleep. How will I have to deal with that situation? he wondered.

He felt the malevolent gaze long after the rest of the squad had fallen asleep.

*****

“Why are we here?” Kimber whispered out of the corner of his mouth. He kept his eyes locked forward, standing at attention in ranks with the rest of the battalion. It was not a normal Marine Corps formation, with two sets of three ranks, facing each other almost like a gauntlet.

“Scuttlebutt is the Duke asked for it,” Kawalski muttered. “Dunno why.”

“Lock it up,” Dubois ordered through his teeth, his lips barely moving.

A commotion was happening at the far end of the line. Rinn heard Anyo’s voice shouting in outrage, followed by a quieter voice he couldn’t make out. Silence fell, broken only by the crunch of boots as Anyo marched down the formed ranks of Marines and Artificers. He wore his parade dress uniform. Two Pikemasters marched on either side of him. They were also in parade dress, but the halberds they bore, though polished, were real. Rinn suppressed an ear twitch as he realized what was happening. That is not an honor guard.

Despite his injuries, and the bandaging that made it difficult to recognize him, Anyo marched smartly to the end of the column. At the head of the formation, the battalion leadership stood behind Duke Yeshai. The Marines were all in MARPAT, but the Duke was distinctive in full parade dress.

Anyo came to a sharp halt in front of Yeshai, his body stiff at attention, ears locked in a regal sweep. He gave no bow. A show of defiance, of protest.

“Battalion, right flank, right face!”

Rinn pivoted to his right along with the Marines around him.

“Battlion, left flank, left face!”

Boots stomped as the other half of the battalion pivoted.

“Knight Captain Anyo,” Duke Yeshai’s voice cut across the crowd. “You stand accused of the attempted murder of a fellow comrade-in-arms, of conspiring the miscarriage of justice, of lying to a fellow officer and noble peer, and of defying the order of your commanding officer and lord. You have been witnessed and observed engaging in action of the highest impropriety. Your conduct has brought disgrace and shame to the Royal Host, and to the Crown. You shall be tried for your attempted felony in a court of your peers, but your conduct cannot and shall not be tolerated.”

With a slight flick of the Duke’s ear, the Pikemasters grabbed Anyo’s arms, securing him in place. The young lord’s ears snapped up and his whole body tensed, but he made no sound. “Henceforth, you are stripped of all Rank and Titles awarded by the Royal Host.” Yeshai reach out and ripped the epaulets from Anyo’s shoulders. “Your service is rendered defunct,” Yeshai ripped the gold banding from Anyo’s cuffs. “Any honors and accolades you have been awarded are now void,” The bevy of medals and ribbons were torn from Anyo’s chest. “And you no longer have any authority to command any member of the Royal Host, by rank, or by title, or by birth.”

Yeshai stepped back. “Henceforth, you are not recognized by the Royal Host, and those honorable worthies who comprise it shall no longer acknowledge your presence nor show you any deference, for you deserve none. Begone.”

The Pikemasters swung around with Anyo still held between him, turning to face back the way they came. He attempted to shake them loose, but they held firm, and marched him back down the open corridor, past the Marines and Artificers who were no longer facing him.

Once the sound of their boots had faded into the distance, Yeshai gave a short nod, then turned sharply to his right and marched away himself. Michaels and Winters exchanged a brief glance, then Micheals turned to Barakis. He said something Rinn couldn’t make out, and they exchanged salutes before Michaels turned and walked away in the opposite direction with Major Winters.

Barakis waited a moment for both of them to leave. “Battalion! Dismissed!”

*****

“Do you think the charges against him will stick?” Michaels watched out his window as Anyo was loaded into a carriage, his wrists bound in iron manacles.

“I have made my recommendations,” Yeshai said. “And this is a disgrace for him and his family.”

“There’s a ‘but’ there.” He sipped his coffee, wishing it was something stronger.

Yeshai gave a brief flick of one ear. “Yes. Lord Anyo’s family, and especially his father, are very well connected.” His expression remained stony; his ears motionless. “I would not be surprised if we hear from him, again.”

“Mm,” Michaels took another sip of his coffee, then returned to his desk. “And the writ for Second Artificer Yahgi’s arrest?”

“She is in your custody,” Yeshai said, rolling his ears. “The Royal Host does not have the … jurisdiction to remove her without your nation’s authorization, so long as she remains so.” Yeshai allowed Michaels to see a small smile of satisfaction.

Michaels set his coffee on his desk and sat down. “So she can’t go home?”

Yeshai’s smile faded. “Not right now, no.” He flicked an ear. “But there is a war on, after all. I doubt she had any immediate plans to return home. Furthermore, these sorts of things tend to get forgotten amidst the large distractions of the campaign. Paperwork tends to get lost.” He flicked his ear again. “The bureaucracy of the military is not perfect, after all.”

“No,” Michaels said, picking up his mug to take another sip. “I suppose it isn’t.”

*****

Bradford stepped up to the doorway, a flash of déjà vu striking her as she read the nameplate. This time, she had been directed to wear her dress blues, and had been left standing outside the office at parade rest for three hours.

Steeling herself against what was to come, she loudly rapped twice on the door. “Enter,” came from inside, and she pushed through.

She shut the door behind her and marched forward to stand at crisp attention in front of the desk. “Sergeant Bradford, reporting as ordered, sir.”

Her entire chain of command was present. Lieutenant Meyers and Staff Sergeant Rickles. Captain Spader and First Sergeant Khatri. Lieutenant Colonel Michaels, Major Winters, and Sergeant Major Barakis. The Battalion JAG officer, Major Blas, was conspicuously absent.

“Sergeant Bradford,” Michaels said, his hands folded in front of him on his desk. “You are suspected of several charges of misconduct, any one of which, in the current state of war that we are in, could warrant a court martial and be punished by death. Do you understand this?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” she said, staring at a fixed point above his head. Her expression was stony, her whole body tense, but she was careful not to completely lock up. The last thing I need right now is to make myself pass out.

“Sergeant Bradford, you executed a major liberty mission without a detailed plan from your subordinates. Your chain of command failed you in that we did not direct you to do so, nor ensure that such a plan was established, but that does not excuse your failure to ensure the successful execution of an incident-free liberty. Do you understand this?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Following the loss of your liberty partner, you not only failed to follow proper protocol and take all measures to report the incident up your chain of command, ensure the accountability of the rest of your party, and seek proper command assistance, you went rogue, pursuing resolution under your own power and authority, in direct contradiction to my standing policy and orders, and the standing policy of the Marine Corps. Do you understand why that policy exists, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Then explain it to me, Sergeant.”

“Sir, Marines jumping into such situations further place themselves at risk of also being captured or killed. They also create the risk of escalating a situation to immediate violence, which could get the other Marine killed immediately, or both Marines killed, or expose both Marines to criminal charges or worse. It is only in the most extreme or dire of circumstances that Marines should take such action instead of calling for law enforcement or other authorities.”

“And did you have any clear indication of such extreme or dire circumstance, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Sir, no, sir.”

“You also drew not only the rest of your squad, but two other Marines from Echo Company into this incident, placing all of them at risk and further increasing the chances of a major incident. Do you understand this, Sergeant?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Why did you do this, Sergeant Bradford?”

“I needed backup, sir.” She paused. “And …” She took a breath. “And we don’t leave anyone behind, sir.”

“Are you trying to justify your actions, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Sir, no, sir! I am just stating my reasoning at the time, sir.”

“After collecting a posse of Marines, you proceeded to storm the guard post at the entrance to the Ganlin camp to gain unauthorized access to said camp. Were that sentry a Marine, he would have been entirely within his right to shoot you and every member of your party. Do you understand this, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Do you understand the gravity of your actions there, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Did you understand it at the time?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Then why did you do it, Sergeant?”

“Sir, … They had taken one of my men. I wanted him back. I was responsible for him, sir, I needed to get him back.”

He eyed her up and down before continuing. “Once you had located Second Artificer Ahyat and his Ganlin unit, you procured Lance Corporal Bickle’s sidearm, and fired three shots into the air. Do you understand the current rules of engagement and the requirements for use of deadly force, Sergeant?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Then why did you discharge that firearm, Sergeant?”

“Sir, they were about to hang Ahyat, sir. I needed to do something to get their attention and bring everything to a stop. Guns are loud, sir.”

Micheals stared at her for a moment. “Following that, you not only insulted my counterpart in the Third Line, you threatened to shoot him. The regulations for respect for officers also apply to our allies, and so does the punishment for misconduct. Do you understand this, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Do you understand how this is a gross violation of basic military discipline and conduct?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Then why did you do it, Sergeant?”

“Sir, he had given the order to kill one of my men, sir.” She straightened her shoulders. She would fall on that sword a thousand times over. “And one of his men was still trying to carry out the order.”

“As an officer in a time of war, I will no doubt give many orders that will kill men under my command. Will you threaten to shoot me for giving them, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Sir, no, sir!”

“Would you threaten to shoot Major Winters?”

“Sir, no, sir!”

“What about Captain Spader, Lieutenant Meyers. Your First Sergeant, or Platoon Staff Sergeant?”

“Sir, no, sir!”

“So, you only threaten to shoot our allies, then, Sergeant Bradford?”

“Sir, no, sir!”

“Are you sure, Sergeant? Then why did you threaten to shoot Knight Captain Leishin? He was giving a lawful order!”

“Sir, he was trying to execute one of my men for something he didn’t do, sir!”

“He was within every letter of the law, Sergeant. He had every authority to give that order.”

“Sir, he was wrong, sir!”

“You don’t get to make that decision, Sergeant Bradford!” Michaels snapped. “Yes, in this case, Knight Captain Leishin was given false information. That doesn’t excuse your breach of good order and discipline. There will be times when you are given an order that you think is wrong, but it is not, because the people above you have intelligence you don’t have access to. There will be times when you are given orders that will result in the deaths of the Marines under your command, but you have to follow them anyway, because if you don’t everyone else dies. Do you understand that, Sergeant Bradford?”

She took a shaky breath, her posture rigid, eyes locked above Michaels’ head. “Sir, yes, sir!”

Michaels stared at her for a long moment, his expression calm and neutral despite his recently raised voice. Bradford struggled to not squirm under his stern gaze.

After an eternity, he took a slow breath. “After you presented proof that Ahyat was not a deserter to Knight Captain Leishin, and Ahyat had been released to your custody, you spotted Lord Anyo in the crowd, is that correct?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“According to every report, you charged into a crowd of soldiers, seized him, hauled him back out of the crowd, and then very nearly beat him to death.” He was silent for a long moment before continuing in a quiet voice. “You assaulted an officer, Sergeant Bradford. Do you understand what that means?”

She inhaled slowly. “Sir, yes, sir,” she said, her own voice small and quiet.

He stared at her for another moment, then unfolded his hands and leaned back in his chair. “That is all for now, Sergeant Bradford. Wait outside.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” She said, performing an about face and marching out of the office.

She shut the door behind her, then returned to her previous post in front of the office, placing herself at parade rest. That wasn’t quite what I was expecting … She closed her eyes a moment, clenching her jaw as she fought to suppress the tears. My career is still over.

*****

“She broke a lot of rules,” Barakis said, pulling one of the chairs in front of Michaels’ desk around to face everyone and taking a seat.

“She did it for the right reasons,” Rickles said.

“The road to Hell is paved with the best intentions,” Meyers said. “Good reasons don’t excuse fucking up.”

“She did save Ahyat’s life,” Winters said, perching on the corner of Michaels’ desk. “If she had followed all of the rules, he’d be dead.” She frowned. “I’d say there’s a good chance that Anyo would have even gotten away with it Scott free, too.”

“She could have handled how she interacted with Leishin better,” Spader said. “Probably didn’t need to threaten to shoot the man.” He sighed. “And while catching Anyo in the act was good, nearly beating him to death was not.”

Khatri nodded. “Good initiative, bad judgement.”

“If this were a combat action, we’d be pinning another medal on her,” Rickles said, leaning against the wall.

“But this wasn’t a combat action,” Meyers said.

“But she took initiative and direct action to save Ahyat,” Barakis said. “We would be happy to get half our Marines to show half the initiative she did on Sunday. As Khatri said,” he nodded at the First Sergeant, “’Good initiative, bad judgement.’”

Khatri nodded in return. “She’s a brand-new Sergeant put in a shitty situation that wouldn’t leave any of us with many good choices. She made some bad calls, but ain’t nobody died. If we drummed out every Marine that fucked up, ain’t none of us’d be standing here today.”

“And if we had all fucked up like this, none of us would be standing here, today, either,” Meyers said.

Barrakis and Khatri exchanged glances, and Spader suppressed a sigh.

“Your official recommendations?” Michaels said. They each gave them, in turn. He nodded, then sighed. “Well, that matches with everything I’m getting from on high.”

*****

The door opened. “Sergeant Bradford,” Rickles leaned out of the door far enough to look at her. “Back in here.”

She snapped to attention, then turned and marched back into the office, determined to face her doom with dignity. She shut the door behind her, and returned to her post in front of Michaels’ desk. Her superiors faced her in two rows on either side of Michaels’ desk.

“Sergeant Bradford,” Michaels said, his hands folded in front of him again. “It is my decision, based on input from your immediate superiors, and all levels above me, up to and including the President himself, to not recommend you for Court Martial. It is also my decision to not subject you to Non-Judicial Punishment for this incident.”

She blinked. What. That … What?Her head spun as a weight seemed to lift from her shoulders.

“Gentlemen, Major, thank you for your input, that is all.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” they all chorused, and started filing out of the room.

Bradford lifted her right foot, preparing to about face. “You are not dismissed, Sergeant.”

“Aye, sir!” She snapped her foot back in place. The last of her chain of command filed out, shutting the door behind them.

Michaels stared at her as she stood at attention, the seconds ticking by. Once again, she struggled not to squirm under his gaze.

Finally, after an eternity, he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Have a seat, Sergeant,” he said, gesturing at one of the two chairs in front of his desk. They were cheap affairs, like you might see in a doctor’s waiting room, but they were cushioned, and had arm rests.

Cautiously, she stepped to her right and sat down as Michaels picked up a thick folder from a corner of his desk. Opening it, he placed it in front of him. “I am required, Sergeant, to give you this.” He pulled out a plane, blue folder and handed it to her.

She took it, opened it, and scanned the formal document. Non-Punitive Letter of Caution was printed in stark, bold letters at the top. The body of the letter described the events that transpired on Sunday in an unforgiving light. … abandoned her liberty partner … unlawfully commandeered armed Marines from their assigned post … radically exceeded her authority … brash and reckless behavior … discharged a misappropriated firearm … major diplomatic incident that culminated in her assaulting an allied commissioned officer. For her actions and behavior in the above listed incident, Sergeant Bradford is formally reprimanded.

Signed, Henry A. Michaels, Lt. Col

Commander, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment

“Sir,” Bradford said, staring at the bottom of the paper as her stomach dropped through the floor. She sagged as the weight crashed back down on her shoulders. “This is the end of my career. I’m finished.”

“It would be, Sergeant, if not for this.” He handed her another folder. The sheet of paper this one contained was embossed and printed in a more flourishing font.

She took the folder and opened it. Placing it over the letter of reprimand, she noticed the seal of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in the top corner. Letter of Commendation stood out in bold, flowing text.

Like the previous document, it also described Sunday’s events, but in a much brighter light. … using ingenuity and quick deduction, located her abducted liberty partner … rallied additional Marines to assist in her search … showed outstanding initiative … bold and assertive action … utilizing every tool at her disposal … saved the life of her liberty partner and aggressively apprehended his alleged attempted murderer. Sergeant Bradford’s intrepidity in the face of adversity reflect great credit upon herself and are in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Armed Forces, and she is to be forgiven any transgressions she may have caused.

Signed, Johnny K. Becnel, General, U.S. Army

Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff

Bradford frowned down at this new paper, her brows knitting together. “I feel like I’m getting mixed signals on this, sir …”

“Sergeant, the Marine Corps is people.”

“Say again, sir?” She looked up at him, hoping he could provide some meaning to what she had just read.

He folded his hands across the folder, locking her eyes with his own. “The Marine Corps is people. I know it often seems like it, but the Marine Corps is not some cubic mile monolith in Washington, D.C. that periodically charges up to great potential and zaps an innocent, unsuspecting Marine. The Marine Corps is people. It is an institution of people, ran by people, and people make mistakes. I am absolutely certain that the Ganlin Royal Host is exactly the same.” He unfolded his hands. “The thing about mistakes made by people, is that people can also fixthose mistakes.”

“Which one is the mistake, sir?” she asked, looking down to glance between the papers, one in each hand.

“Sergeant, listen to me.” She instinctively straightened her back to a ramrod, arms firmly on the armrests, and stared at a point just above Michaels’ head. “And sit at ease. I want you to actually take in what I’m telling you.” She relaxed, and found her eyes locked with his once more.

He gestured at the papers in her hands. “Someone high up, with enough clout to get my boss to order me to write that letter of reprimand, doesn’t like what you did and how you handled the situation with Second Artificer Ahyat on Sunday.” He leaned back. “And, technically, they’re not wrong. What you did was brash, reckless, insubordinate, wildly exceeded any authority you have as a Sergeant, and you caused a major diplomatic incident in which you not just assaulted an allied commissioned officer, but put him in a coma for two days.” He picked up another piece of paper. “Multiple contusions. Broken orbital. Shattered cheekbone. Cranial swelling.”

He looked up at Bradford, whose shoulders sagged with each criticism. Her eyes dropped low, staring past her hands as they fidgeted with the papers in her lap. “I could go on.” He waved the paper at the world beyond his door. “If not for two of your own Marines physically dragging you off him, you probably would have killed him. As it is, I’m pretty sure, if not for the magical healing bullshit provided by the Lord Sayiash and the medical artificer the keshmin sent, he’d still be in a coma today!”

The paper dropped to his desk. “But you also showed ingenuity, a laudable ability to rapidly assess a situation, and took swift, decisive action. You demonstrated the kind of initiative, boldness, determination, and fidelity we could only hope to see in half our Marines.” He leaned forward, meeting her eyes again as she looked up. “And you saved Ahyat’s life. You did what you needed to do to save the life of one of the men under your command, and whose knowledge, expertise, and combat ability are an invaluable asset to this battalion and the whole United States. If this were a combat scenario, I’d be pinning a gold star in lieu of second award onto your Silver Star,” he said, pointing at her chest.

He held her eyes for a moment, letting that sink in. “And someone else high up, with as much or more clout, also sees that and is willing to go to bat for you.”

He leaned back, eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down. “Sergeant, I’ve seen Marines like you, before. Iwas a Marine like you, once.” He sighed. “If circumstances were different, I would strongly encourage you to pursue a commissioning program. Go finish your degree on the Corps’ dime, and come back as an officer.” He shook his head. “But the reality is we’re in the middle of a war, about to go on the offensive, and I need you where you’re at. You’re a damn good Marine, and it sounds like your squad will follow you anywhere. Most importantly, all reports I’ve been given indicate that you’ve earned Ahyat’s staunch loyalty and fidelity, even before you saved his life from his own, former comrades. The Ganlin Royal Host has only loaned us so many artificers, and we need every one of them focused and committed to working with the humans around them.”

He leaned forward again. “But if we survive whatever this war turns out to be, I want you to pursue a commission. If you can step up to fill those shoes, I think you’d make an excellent officer, and we need more officers like that.”

“I-“ She swallowed. “Aye, sir. I’ll do that, sir.”

“Good.” He leaned back with a short sigh. “You’ve made some enemies, Bradford, at home and in Ganlin. As soon as Anyo came around enough to be lucid, he demanded your head on a pike. Kept screaming bloody murder at you and Ahyat until the Duke walked in and told him to shut the fuck up. But you’ve got allies, too. Both Duke Yeshai, and Ahyat’s old commander recommended Anyo be brought up on murder charges, and there are people at the top in Washington willing to stand up for people who do the right thing, even if they go about it in the wrong way.” He waved at her. “Still, it’s probably a good thing you’ll be out at the tip of the spear, out of reach, and hopefully soon out of mind.”

She looked up at that. “So, we’re moving out soon, sir?”

“We’re mustering the battalion to put out the word at zero-eight tomorrow.”

“Aye, sir.”

He closed the folder and set it back in the corner of his desk. “Sergeant, you did good work on Sunday, but understand the only reason you’re not facing a court martial is because what you did worked.” He fixed her with an icy stare. “Don’t ever fucking do anything like this again.” He paused. “And if you do, make damn fucking sure it works.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” she said, turning her back into a ramrod once again.

“Dismissed, Sergeant.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” she said, standing up and bracing at attention, before turning sharply and marching towards the door.

“And Sergeant,” Michaels said as her hand touched the doorknob.

“Yes, sir?” she paused looking over her shoulder.

“You squad is going to be at the very point of our spear. Get them ready. I expect them to be the first on the line.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“Carry on.”

“Carry on, aye, sir,” she said, opening the door and continuing through. She closed it behind her, tucked the folder containing her two letters smartly under her left arm, and marched down the hallway.

She had a job to do.

*****

Scratching behind his ear with the back of his pen, Rinn frowned at the paper in front of him as he compared his Gyani script and the English words next to them. He had the phonetics down now, mostly, though many words still gave him trouble. Why do they have so many words that are spelled the same, but sound different? Or sound the same, but spelled and mean different? Not that Gyani is much better, in its own way …

He sighed, rolling his ears. He glanced back at Bradford’s empty rack, and pointedly tried to not look at the time. She’s been gone a while … In her dress uniform that someone had brought in for her. He tugged at a horn, then forced himself to turn back to his notebook. I can’t do anything more to help her, and worrying is just going to have me start pulling out fur.

“Hey, uh, Shields?”

Rinn looked up to see Gomez standing next to his rack, his hands fidgeting with each other in front of him. “Yes? Do you need something?”

“I was wondering if you could help me out a bit, later.”

Setting his pen on his notepad in his lap, Rinn straightened and leaned back a little, to better look up at the large human. “What do you need help with?”

“Well, you see, I was, uh, I was wonderin’ if you could help me learn how to write a bit of your language.” He glanced away, fidgeting even more. “And, uh, maybe help me write a letter.”

Rinn tilted his head, ears cocking to the side. “Who do you want to write a letter to?”

“Well, you see, uh,” Gomez brought his hand up, scratching the back of his head, then moving down to rub at the back of his neck. “I met this girl, back when we were in town. She’s a very nice lady, and uh, she told me I could write to her, and she’d write me back.”

Rinn’s ears slowly swung up, and he had to suppress a smirk. “I see. And, uh, did she tell you how to write to her?”

“Oh, yeah,” Gomez said, reaching into a pocket to pull out a folded piece of parchment. He carefully unfolded it, and showed it to Rinn.

Taking the paper, he caught a whiff of exotic perfume as he read the flowing script. It was ornate, but also a clear and consistent hand. He read the name, and the address. “Um, Gomez, Saishi isn’t common as a given name. It’s frequently used in a … certain industry, such as this establishment.” He tilted the paper for emphasis before handing it back.

“Oh, I know,” Gomez said, scratching the back of his head again as he turned a deep red. “That, uh … That’s how we met. Her real name’s Sahla.”

“She told you her real name?” Rinn tilted his head down, looking up at him and wishing he had a pair of spectacles to look over to complete the effect.

“Uh-huh,” Gomez said, smiling a bit as he looked off into the past. “We spent most of the day together.”

“I see.” He sighed, suppressing a chuckle. “Well, I can’t say I will be the best of tutors, as I’m still learning my letters in your language myself, but I will give you what help I am able.”

“Thanks, Shields!” Gomez gave him a bright smile. “I’ll have to sit down with you later, though, Kawalski’s got me checking all mine and his’s gear again.”

Rinn quirked an ear. “That sounds … uncharacteristically responsible of him. What’s going on?”

Gomez shrugged. “Dunno, but ‘Ski said somethin’ was up, wanted to make sure all our shit was good in case shit hit the fan.”

Stowing his notebook in his pack, Rinn stood up and looked around for Kawalski just as the man walked into the bunk room. “Something’s definitely up, guys,” he said, clapping his hands.

“What’s up?” Edison asked, looking up from the new GoPro he was fiddling with. It had just been delivered that day.

“Dunno what, but scuttlebutt is that somethin’ is happenin’. The whole base is a chaotic clusterfuck of ‘dump everythin’ through the portal,’ so a lot of shit’s always happenin’, but this is somethin’ else.” He shook his head. “Shit’s gettin’ packed up and moved around, ordnance and gear is gettin’ staged, and then not gettin’ moved and restaged somewhere else. Somethin’s up, somethin’s about to go down, and either ain’t nobody actually knows what it is, or they’re all keepin’ damn quiet about it.”

“Are we moving out?” Kimber asked, sitting up in his rack.

“Dunno.” Kawalski shrugged. “Looks like somebody is getting ready for a big op, but logistics are so fucked, I can’t tell who it’s supposed to be. Not sure if anyoneactually knows who it’s supposed to be.”

“So?” Davies said, laying back down on his rack. “If we’re moving out, they’ll tell us to get our shit ready.”

“Lounge around if you want, but I ain’t gettin’ caught with my pants around my ankles.” Kawalski turned away from Davies. “Gomez! Report status of checking our gear!”

“In progress, boss.”

“In progress my fuckin’ ass! I’ve thrown that report at sirs and sergeants more times than you’ve shit, and every time it means you ain’t fuckin’ started yet!”

Kawalski’s berations were interrupted by Dubois walking through the door, a familiar Marine loaded with gear following behind him. “Alright, everyone, listen up!” The room fell silent as the rest of the squad turned or sat up to look at him. “This is Lance Corporal Santelli. We all briefly met him on Sunday, but I don’t think anyone really did any proper introductions. As of today, Santelli is officially a part of Second Squad.”

“Whose fire team is he in?” Davies asked.

“That … isn’t clear,” Dubois said. “Normally, Sergeant Bradford or Staff Sergeant Rickles would make that assignment, but they’re,” he frowned. “They’re both occupied at the moment.”

“He’s definitely part of my fire team, then,” Kawalski said. He waved at an empty rack near Gomez. “You can drop your gear there; Gomer’ll help you check you’ve got everythin’.”

“What? No, my team’s short-handed, too!” Davies said, standing up.

“Yeah, but Jabs’ promotion came through before the whole war kicked off, so her replacement’s first up in line. Carlson’s replacement will be coming down next. It’s all by timeological order.” Kawalski smirked at Davies. Rinn could practically hear the unspoken challenge for Davies to point out that, by that logic, Santelli should technically be in Davies’ fire team as his replacement.

Davies glared at Kawalski. “We’ll see what Jabs and the Staff Sergeant have to say.”

“In the meantime, drop your shit there, Gomer’ll help you out,” Kawalski said, waving at the empty rack again. “Gomer! Help the new guy with his gear!”

“Aye, aye, Corporal!”

“And stop using my goddamn slave name, you fucking boot!”

“Yooz guys are fuckin’ whack, bro,” Santelli said, shaking his head as he walked over to the empty rack and started dropping his gear.

Dubois followed, giving him a hand. “So, going around the room for proper introductions, this is Gomez,” he waved at the big Marine. “He’s a dumb boot fresh from infantry school, so you gotta watch out for him a bit, but he’s already been in two major fights, and he’s good under fire.”

Gomez shrugged. “S’what I signed up for.”

Dubois continued around the room, introducing each squad member in turn. “And, finally, we have our very own, real-life wizard, Second Artificer Rinn Ahyat. We call him Shields.”

Rinn nodded his head. “Nice to meet you, Lance Corporal.”

“The fuck did he just say?” Santelli said.

“Ah, shit, you can’t understand him, can you?” Dubois frowned, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead.

“Yooz all can?”

“Yeah, one of their artificers cast a mass translation spell out at Williams when we first showed up there.” Dubois sighed. “I guess you weren’t in range when it went off.”

“You talkin’ ‘bout day one?” Santelli shook his head. “Nah, B, I was back stateside. I only came through the portal, like, a week ago.”

“Well, this is going to get awkward,” Edison said. “Are all our replacements not going to be able to understand Shields?”

“Scuttlebutt is they’re workin’ on it,” Kawalski said. “The Ganlin types’re supposed to be getting’ another spell thing ready for us.”

“About fucking time,” Davies said, rolling his eyes. “Four fucking weeks, and I’ve only been able to understand this guy when he’s singing fucking cadence.”

“Ha, that’s whack, bro.” Santelli paused on his walk back to his new rack. “Wait, yooz guys still sing fuckin’ cadence? You’re talkin’ like, for PT and shit, right?”

“No,” Edison sighed. “We form up and march in cadence as a company. Mostly on the way to and from PT, but not always.”

“It’s an Echo Company thing,” Dubois said.

“Yeah, First Sergeant’s got a hard on for cadence and formation drill.” Kawalski shook his head. “And Captain Spader lets him do it, ‘cause First Sergeant’s got him convinced it makes the Company look good.”

“That’s fuckin’ crusty as fuck,” Santelli grimaced. “Ugh.”

“It ain’t too bad,” Kimber said. “We don’t march into combat.”

“You shut your fuckin’ whore mouth before the goddamn First Sergeant hears you, you fuck!” Kawalski snapped. “Don’t go givin’ him any fuckin’ bright ideas!”

“Oh, shit, my bad,” Kimber said, glancing around as if Khatri was about to pop out of the wood work.

“Fuckin’ whack, bro,” Santelli muttered as he started sorting through his packs.

The outer door swung open, then slammed shut as someone strode down the hall. Rinn’s ears perked up as Bradford marched into the bunk room.

“Second Squad!” she shouted, without a trace of the fear and despair that had so consumed her that morning. She tucked her cover and a folder under her arm as she surveyed the room, once again her bold, confident self. “Start packing it up. Dubois, Davies, Kawalski, get everyone packed up for a combat loadout. Anything we’re not carrying out into the field gets packed up separate. Tag it with names and units. Edison, I also need you to check all our electronics, and make sure we have plenty of batteries. Sampson, double-check your radio gear and do a full comms test. Elder, grab Gomez and do an ammo count. I want double ammo loads for everyone, and any extra rounds we can carry.”

“What’s going on, Jabs?” Kawalski stepped towards the door as the rest of the squad started scrambling off their bunks and pulling out gear.

“Official word’s coming down tomorrow, but training days are over. We’re going back to war.”

“Fuck, yeah!” Kawalski whooped as most of the squad cheered.

“The battalion’s mustering at zero-eight tomorrow morning. Second Squad’s going to be at the point of our spear, and Colonel Michaels expects us to be first on the line. I want everyone packed up, geared up, and ready to roll by zero-seven.” She strode across the room to her own bunk, undoing her uniform as she went. “Kawalski, if we’re missing anything we need, or anything we’ll want in the field, you’ve got tonight to get it. I don’t care how.”

“Aye, aye, Sergeant!”

Rinn began piling all of his own gear on his rack, sorting out what he needed or wanted on the march, and what he could leave behind. He looked up as Bradford reached her rack, and their eyes met.

This close, he could see that she was tired and had suffered an ordeal, but there was a fire in her eyes that warmed him. When she smiled, he knew there was nothing that would stand in their way.

*****

“Battalion, attenhuh!”

Bradford snapped to attention, her squad in formation behind her. It had been a later night than any of them would have liked, but she was confident they were all ready to go. And so was the rest of the battalion. Second Squad being ready and on the line isn’t any good if the rest of the 2/5 isn’t ready … She had quietly spread the word to the other squad leaders in Echo Company, and then the rest of the battalion, making sure they all knew they needed to get ready to go back into the field.

After ensuring Second Squad and Echo Company were going to be ready first, of course.

Michaels walked up to the front of the formation, with General Langstrom on his heels. They both returned the Sergeant Major’s salute. Stepping out in front of the battalion, the Lieutenant Colonel yielded the floor to Langstrom.

The Combatant Commander of the United States Gahla Command placed his hands on his hips, surveying the battalion. “Marines!” his voice carried across the grinder with the power of a trained public speaker. “You have worked hard over the last four weeks, blazing a path for the integration of US and Ganlin forces. Before that, you proved yourselves in the only two significant engagements of the war so far. I’m afraid the reward for a job well done, is another job! I would love to give you time off, time with your friends and families, but we’re at war! And it’s time we took the fight to the enemy! Oorah?”

“OORAH!” thundered back.

“Second Battalion is the only unit we have that has integrated artificer support. There are more coming, but Ganlin only has so many to lend us. This means that you will be at the very tip of the spear as we move into the next phase of Operation Bulldog. Tomorrow morning, the whole of First Mar Div is going on the offensive, but Second Battalion is driving out first. Two/Five led the way into this war, and now you’ll be leading the way in driving these Keebler bastards out of the Kingdom of Ganlin, and back to whatever goddamn hellhole they crawled out of! Oorah?”

“OORAH!”

“Your mission is to use the advantages of our mechanized and airlift-capable forces to drive a wedge deep into enemy territory, setting up a string of FOBs and a solid corridor of advance for our main forces and the Ganlin Royal Host to sweep through and retake their country. These bastards thought they could pick a fight with us. You kicked their ass the day we stepped into this war, now it’s time to go kick their asses again. Oorah?”

“OORAH!”

“Outstanding! Second Battalion launches off at 1000 tomorrow morning, with the rest of First Mar Div rolling out tomorrow afternoon. The Ganlin are setting off another translation spell at 1500 hundred today, updated by the best linguists we could bring in on both sides. This one’s shorter ranged, to save mana, so make sure you are within the base and on this side of the portal. We don’t know yet for sure how spells will propagate through it. Good luck, Marines; go kick some Keebler ass. Semper Fi!”

Langstrom turned to Michaels, returning his salute as he passed the floor back to him, then turned and walked away.

“Company commanders briefing at 0900,” Michaels shouted. “Platoon and squad briefings at 1030. If there’s anything you need to go mobile tomorrow morning, I need to know it by noon today. Let’s go to war!” he turned to Barakis. “Carry on, Sergeant Major,” he said in a much lower voice, exchanging salutes.

“Carry on, aye, sir,” Barakis said, then turned back to the battalion as Michaels walked away. “Battalion! Let’s make sure the General remembers who we are, and the damn keeblers hear us in whatever godforsaken hole they crawled into! RETREAT!”

“HELL!”

“TWO-FIVE!”

“RETREAT, HELL!”

“Dismissed!”

*****

“You’re not coming with us, my lord?” Rinn asked, stepping away from the Humvee he was about to load into.

“No,” Sayiash said, standing before Rinn with no pack or armor. “I’m staying behind. I shall be working with Duke Yeshai and Second Artificer Yenyed to be the foundation of the new ‘joint tactics training program’” He grinned. “And, more importantly, I’ll be working with the human doctors, applying their knowledge of medicine to our healing arts.” His grin of excitement turned into one of wonder. “The lives that could be saved, on both sides of the portal!”

He smiled off into the distance. “I never would have expected to find it as a Line Artificer in the Host, but I think I have found my true calling.” He looked back at Rinn. “I have already spoken to His Grace, and when the operations here no longer require my presence, he will grant me leave to study human medicine at one of their universities!”

Rinn couldn’t help but return the smile. “That’s wonderful news, my lord! I wish you the joy of it.”

“And you, Second Artificer,” Sayiash said, extending his arm to shake hands as equals. “It’s been a pleasure and an honor, and I look forward to hearing of your accomplishments. If we survive this war, and it’s looking more likely every day, I would be happy to give you my endorsement.”

“You honor me, my lord,” Rinn said, returning the handshake in the Ganlin way.

“You honor yourself, Second Artificer.” He glanced at Bradford as she approached. “May the gods above light your path, and the gods below fear your tread.”

Bradford opened the front passenger door of the Humvee, stepping onto the runner and slapping the roof. “Second Squad! Mount up!” She ducked down into the seat, pulling the door shut behind her.

Gomez clamored into the back, and up into the turret to man the ma-deuce. Kawalski followed him in, shutting his door behind him. Climbing in after Miller, Rinn was able to secure the other door seat. Tucking the butt of his stave between his feet, he yanked on the door, slamming it shut, then tapped the back of the driver’s chair. “All aboard!”

The motor roared to life, joining the rumble of vehicles around them as they started up. Bradford looked over her shoulder, giving him a smile. “Let’s go kick some Keebler ass.”

End Act III

Episode 17.5

“One, two, three, four, five.”

Turn.

One, two, three, four, five.

Turn.

One, two, three, “four, five … gah!” Tyriel spun away from the wall and stomped back to his bed.

He sat down and tried to clear his mind by diving into another meditative trance. Without even the ability to create a local dreamscape, basic meditation was becoming harder and harder, and doing less and less to calm him.

Silent … Too silent … He started tapping his foot just to have some noise. Two weeks … “Two weeks!” he muttered. “Why hasn’t he called me back in? Our sessions were almost daily!”

Why should I care? Any visit with John was just more time spent with animals. Touched by animals.

“But at least it was a break from this abominable silence!” His hand tapped his knee, in time with his foot. “And the verbal games we play have always been entertaining.” He smiled, looking forward to the next time he could mentally spar with John.

“Gah!” he snarled. Why am I caring? They are animals! “They are nothing! He is nothing! Beneath me! It is disgusting to interact with them! They are insects!” Worse than insects! They are worms! “I should not care to interact with them! I should cherish every moment I do not!”

“And I am talking to myself!” Again! You need to stop this, Tyriel. “They are trying to turn you mad! They cut you off from Pelanor. Cut you off from the dreamscape. Play games with your mind. Do not let them. Stop talking to yourself. I have to stop- AAAGHHH!”

Tyriel threw himself from his bunk. Stomping across his cell, he reached the opposite wall in five paces and turned to his left. Circles. Circles. Back and forth isn’t working, let’s try circles.

Circles didn’t work last week, another part of his mind reminded him.

“GAHHH! Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!” He pounded his fists against both sides of his head as he continued pacing along the walls of his cell.

*****

“Looks like he’s finally cracking.”

“Only took almost three weeks.” Major Kolovitch rolled his eyes.

“That ain’t cracking, Staff Sergeant,” the specialist on monitor duty said, looking over his shoulder as he pointed at the screen. “That’s straight broke.”

“John” sipped his coffee as he watched Tyriel on the computer monitors. “I think he’s ready. Take him to the interrogation room.”

*****

Maybe I could start throwing myself against the wall again. The guards would come, like they did last time. At least it would be a break from this unending monotony …

“Don’t be a fool. Why would I want the animals to lay a hand on-“

The door to his cell clacked and rattled. That’s the lock, not the food door! He stopped his pacing and quickly tried to regain his composure. I cannot let them see me out of sorts. He pulled his hair back behind his ears, making sure none of it draped over his shoulders. Formal. Formal. Formal. Have to be formal.

The usual guards entered. They issued the old instructions, instructions he hadn’t heard in ages. Weeks? Was it two weeks? Tyriel complied as they bound him hand and foot with steel manacles. He did not resist as they took his arms and led him from his cell. The path they took through the halls was different, just as it had been different every time before. After several hundred steps, they finally stopped at one of the identical doors, and led him inside. They bolted his chains to a shackle in the floor. Is it the same shackle? Or are there several rooms that are identical? The chair and table are the same. My old marks are still there. He inspected the smooth, painted rock of the floor, looking for any of the marks he had made before. Not there. Just like every other time.

The guards left, and he was alone in silence once more. This quiet was different, however. John always kept me waiting here before he arrived. He relaxed in his chair, despite its uncomfortable steel construction, and allowed himself a slight smile. I should not be happy to see this animal. I should – No. I am not happy to talk to him. I am happy because this is an opportunity to once again demonstrate my superiority.

The door opened, and Tyriel had to stifle his smile as John walked in. The human placed a folder and notepad on the table and sat down in the chair across from him. “I apologize for not seeing you in so long, Tyriel,” John said, meeting his eyes with an earnest gaze. “I’ve been swamped with a backlog of paperwork my superiors needed done. I’m sure you know how it is.”

“Indeed,” Tyriel said, even though he didn’t.

“Have you been enjoying your meals?” John asked. “If there is anything you would like to be changed, I can see if I can make that happen.

“They … are acceptable.” He considered a moment. “I would like some more variety. I always get the same things every three or four days.”

John made a note on his pad. “I think I can make that happen. The doctors have been concerned about expanding your diet too quickly and giving you something that isn’t safe for you to eat, but you haven’t shown any issues or complications from the food we have provided so far. I’ll talk to them about adding more variety to your meals, and expanding that variety on a more regular basis.”

“Thank you.” Tyriel found that he meant it, and immediately had to stomp on the surge of disgust and self-loathing. Showing contempt in these sessions never worked out.

“If I’m going to convince my bosses to increase the variety of your food, though, I need something I can tell them. You know how this works.”

Tyriel sighed, leaning back in his chair, considering what he could share with the human. I can’t just make something up. I learned early that lies do not pay off. They might not know right away, but they eventually found out, and he suffered the consequences.

“How many mage towers does the Empire have?”

“I do not know,” Tyriel shook his head. “We typically deploy them one to a legion, but sometimes deploy two or three, or none, depending on what is needed or how the battle or campaign is desired to be fought. I have never seen an issue of them not being available.”

“Have you seen them built?”

“Yes. On several occasions.”

“How long does it take them be built?”

Tyriel shrugged. “It depends. I have seen them crafted over months or years, but I have also seen an entire tower forged and erected in days. I do not know much more on the details of their construction or operation. I am not a mage.”

John nodded, jotting down several notes. “How many legions does the Empire have?”

“I have already answered this question, John,” Tyriel rolled his eyes with a smile. “We had twelve legions active in the keshmin lands when your people arrived, including the four legions we pulled from the dohlgra front. You destroyed eight of them when you arrived.”

“We haven’t seen any sign of those other four legions, or the survivors of the first battle since we took your base camps. Where are they? Why haven’t they tried to engage us?”

“I am not a commander of armies, John, I do not know their plans or why they have decided to not engage you.” He tilted his head. “You have presented many unknowns to us in that first battle. If I were to guess, I would say they are observing and biding time. Sooner or later, they will strike, and you will be overwhelmed.”

“How many more legions does the Empire have to bring into the fight?”

“I do not know. I never counted them.”

“Does the Empire have more legions to bring to the fight?”

“We did not abandon the dohlgra campaign entirely when attacking the last concentration of keshmin strength, and we have not committed the entirety of our forces to either campaign.”

“Were the forces deployed against the keshmin and dohlgra a significant portion of the Empire’s legions?”

“It was a significant portion of the Empire’s active legions.”

“How many inactive legions does the Empire maintain?”

“I do not know, I never counted them.” Tyriel leaned forward. “But every elf is trained in the art of war, and may be called to serve the Empire.”

“How many elves are there in the Empire?”

“I never counted them.”

John made another note. “How many cities are in the Empire?”

“We have no cities.”

John raised an eyebrow at him. “You have no population centers?”

“We do, but we do not call them cities.”

“What do you call them?”

“Conclaves.”

“How many conclaves are there in the Empire?”

“There are fifteen Great Conclaves in the Empire. There are many more lesser Conclaves across the Empire.”

“What are your conclaves like?”

“They are great gatherings of elven people. You wouldn’t be able to comprehend them.”

“Did you live in a conclave?”

“All elves live in a Conclave, when we are not serving the Empire. I live in Ierenaeyenlaidenae, the seventh Great Conclave.”

“How long have you served the Empire?”

Tyriel straightened. “I have served the Empire for most of my life. Most elves rarely leave the Umbral Planes of Pelianor. I have spent more of my life away from those sacred planes than treading them.”

“Is your family there?”

“Yes.” He took a breath. “My daughter is there, with certainty. She never understood my zeal for service.” He smiled, looking past the table. “Though I suspect my granddaughter is not. She always tended to take after me more than her mother.”

“Do you have a wife? Or something equivalent?”

Tyriel shook his head. “No. I have met no one yet who has captured my heart.” He smirked. “You might be willing to live with someone for all of your short lives, but it takes a special bond to share a life with someone for more than a few decades.”

“Do you miss your family?”

“I do,” he said with a small nod. “Anseliar especially. Trensilin was a treasure, but we were never close. She found her purpose entirely in Pelianor. Anseliar … She was always eager to hear my stories, and learn anything I could teach her.”

John looked up from his notepad. “Is there anything you would tell them if we could get a message to them?”

Tyriel was silent for a long moment before slightly shaking his head. “Not today.”

Nodding, John set his pen down. “That is all for now,” he said, closing his notebook, then the folder.

Tyriel looked up, suddenly concerned. So soon? Most of our other sessions were much longer! Is this all I’ll have for another two weeks? He clenched his jaw. Not that I care. I should be glad to be done with him so soon.

“Before I go,” John said, putting the pen in his pocket and setting his notepad on top of the folder. “I have noticed your agitation of late. I know you don’t have anything to occupy yourself with outside of our sessions, and that must be very hard for you.” He reached into a pocket. “Your cooperation has improved, however, and I was able to convince my superiors to let you have this.” He pulled a small object out and placed it on the table. “This is called an MP3 player. It plays music. I don’t know what kind of music you like, but I preloaded it with a diverse selection. If there is anything you do like, let me know, and I can see about getting you more of it.”

Tyriel stared at the small device. “It works without mana?” John has told me nothing they have uses mana many times, but I still don’t quite him.

“Everything we have works without mana, Tyriel.” He picked the device up and pressed a button, causing a glass square to light up with a soft chime. “This turns it on. Now, I know you can’t read English, so I turned on a feature that will read selections to you.”

He pressed another button and a bar on the screen appeared, highlighting text. “Menu,” said a bland female voice. “Library.”

He pressed another button. “You navigate the menus with these buttons,” he said. “You can sort by genre or artist, or album, play individual songs, select artists, or specific albums, or play the entire library.” As he spoke, he navigated the menu, demonstrating along the way. “This arrow button will play the song or playlist.” He pressed it and the sound of an orchestra emanated from the device. “You can pause or stop, fast forward, rewind, or loop songs, or shuffle the songs in random order. You can even create your own playlist of songs.”

He held the first button again. “Powering off.”

“The battery that powers this does have a limited charge, but it will last several hours on its own.” He turned the device to show a small hole in the bottom. “To charge it, you plug a cable in here. We’ve added an outlet to your cell where you can plug the power cord in to charge it.”

John placed the MP3 player back in his pocket and it took all of Tyriel’s self-control to maintain a stony composure as he collected the notepad and folder and stood up. “I’ll see you at our next session,” he said, then turned and left the room.

Silence fell once again, and Tyriel settled in to wait. It was exactly 1185 enki until the guards came to collect him this time. Over two hundred enki longer than the average, but fifty enki shorter than the longest time he counted.

The trip back to his cell was twenty-eight steps and three turns longer than the average, but two hundred and seven steps shorter than the longest trip, and eleven turns less than the most convoluted route.

They opened the door and walked him into his cell. He cooperated as they remove the manacles and chains, and departed.

On his bed, set neatly on a fresh pillow and folded sheets, was the MP3 player and a loosely-coiled length of white cord. Next to his bed, a small rectangle was now set into the wall. A small hole, like the one on the end of the MP3 player, was centered in the panel.

He snorted in disdain, turning away from it to pace around his cell. Forty steps later, the loop inevitably brought him back to his bunk. He eyed the device, then picked it up. He considered throwing it against the wall to shatter it, but set it aside instead. They would probably take it as not cooperating and set me back to gruel for another week.

Unfolding the sheets, he made his bed, then settled down to perform his daily mediation. With renewed focus, he managed to siphon in another smidgeon of mana. I must not lose focus of this, even though it has been harder lately. No more missed days.

After collecting the bare traces of mana that accumulated in his cell, he continued his meditation, focusing on his service and the glory of the Aesimnai Empire and the elven people.

Eventually, though, the silence started to cut in. He started to tap a finger on his knee. With a grimace, he clenched his fist to stop the twitch, then opened his eyes, leaning back with a sigh. Unable to maintain his focus and calm, he uncrossed his legs in one, fluid motion, and resumed pacing around his cell.

On the third lap, his eyes fell on the MP3 player. He stopped and stared at it. He gazed for a long moment, frozen. Finally, with a sigh and timid steps, he walked over and picked up the device. Sitting down on his bed, he looked at it in his hand. The screen lit up with a soft chime.

“Menu. Library. All Music. Shuffle On. Play.”

Grating noise emitted from the device, and he frowned, hitting the double forward arrow button. Is all human music like this?

The noise stopped, and a moment later actual music played. A string instrument plucked a soft tune. He sat back, leaning against the wall as the tempo picked up and a woman’s soft voice began to sing. He closed his eyes and listened. He didn’t understand the lyrics, and he knew it was a human animal that was singing, but he suppressed that part. It is okay, at least for a little while, to pretend I’m listening to an elven voice. Even without knowing the words, the song spoke to him of a longing and melancholy that made his heart ache.

When the song’s final notes faded, he continued to sit and listened to the next song.

And the next.

And the next.

Episode 18

“Three fucking weeks.”

“Say again, Sergeant?” Meyer turned to look at Bradford as she stared over the hesco wall.

“It’s been three fucking weeks, sir, since we finished getting this FOB set up, and we’re still sitting here.” She snorted. “It’s bad enough we haven’t seen any fucking Keeblers since the first week of the war. We’ve built eight FOBs chained out over five hundred kilometers without seeing a single elf. Now we’ve been twiddling our thumbs up our asses for so long, the goddamn Army’s caught up.” She waved at the latest in a line of trucks and Humvees rolling up to the gate in the compound’s southern wall.

“Disappointed the elves aren’t giving us any resistance, Sergeant?”

“Sir,” she said, turning away from the wall. “We’re Marines. We exist to fight and kill the enemy, and right now we don’t have an enemy to fight.” She frowned. “We’re all on edge, sir, with nobody to take it out on but each other. Especially with First Sergeant home burying his mother.”

“I hear you, Sergeant.” He sighed, shaking his head. “The thing is, the elves have rolled over with so little resistance that top brass is getting unnerved. We’re finally starting to get somesatellite coverage, and between those and recon flights, we’re seeing evidence that they have a lot more forces left. But they’re not engaging us, and we don’t know why.”

“So, we’re just going to sit here and diddle our own assholes until they decide to come out and play, sir?”

“Ha! Not quite.” He chuckled. “We’re consolidating. Top brass is worried about being lured into over-extending. We’re letting everyone catch up, so we can advance across a consistent front.”

“Any word on when we’ll be moving out, then, sir?”

“Soon, Sergeant,” he said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “Soon. Then we’ll really show these Keebler bastards how the Marine Corps kicks ass.”

*****

“The trick is all in the wrist,” Kimber said. “You gotta get a good swing going, but you gotta use your wrist, and just your wrist. Use your whole arm, and you’ll over shoot. Watch.” He flicked his wrist up, releasing the string pinched between his thumb and first two fingers as the small rock tied to the end reached the peak of its arc.

It flew forward, arcing down to drop into the wide end of a traffic cone lying on its side. It bounced twice, pulling the string into the cone after it, but didn’t bounce out the narrow opening at the top.

“Strings all in, three points!” Kimber said, to mild applause and cheers. He tapped Rinn in the chest with the back of his hand. “You’re up.”

“Nice throw,” Rinn said, walking up to the cone to retrieve the rock-on-a-string. “Have you been playing this game long?”

“Eh, a year or two. Picked it up from some sub guys. Was visiting an old buddy of mine in the Navy, and he got me a tour of one of the subs. It was a weekend, and the guys on duty came up with it, bored out of their skull.” Rinn’s throw skipped across the ground into the cone, but just barely. “Rock’s in, string’s out, two points.”

“Where the fuck did you get the traffic cone, anyway?” Johnson from Third Squad asked as Santelli walked down to retrieve the rock-on-a-string for his turn.

“Bro, this bad boy here is our lucky traffic cone,” Kimber said. “They shipped a lot of stupid shit out here. Been with us since we first rolled out to set up FOB Rebound three months ago.”

“Fuck, it’s been almost four, now,” Santelli said just before tossing his shot, and completely whiffing.

“Jesus, Santelli,” Kimber shook his head. “Am I gonna have to carry you the whole match?”

“Heh,” Elder chuckled. “You’re as lucky at hitting the cone as you are at hitting with the ladies!”

“You know what, fuck you!” Santelli said, pointing at him. “I hope you get testicular cancer and die in a fucking fire.”

Elder just laughed more.

“Gomez,” Rinn said, tapping his teammate’s shoulder. “You’re up.”

“Heh, yeah,” Gomez said, stuffing his notepad and pencil into a cargo pocket before walking over to retrieve the rock-on-a-string. Turning back to them, he stopped, then smiled. “Hey, guys, watch this.”

Uh-oh, Rinn thought. Those are never good words to hear from a human …

“What are we watching?”

“Shhh,” Gomez said, nodding at Kawalski, lying sprawled out asleep against a pile of sandbags the platoon filled a couple days before. He started swinging the rock-on-a-string, lining it up with Kawalski’s spread legs.

Oh, this isn’t going to end well.

Gomez let fly, arcing the rock up, to drop squarely in the man’s groin.

“Goh! Fuuuuckkkk!” The rock hit, jolting Kawalski awake, and he immediately curled into a ball, his face turning red as he cried in pain. Rinn’s ears flicked back in sympathy.

The rest of the squad laughed as he rolled around in pain. Clutching at the ground, Kawalski grabbed a rock and chucked it in the general direction of the others. They easily dodged, but a Marine behind them did not.

“Ow! Fuck! You fucking assholes!” The rock came flying back, glancing off of Gomez’s shoulder.

“Hey, man, what the fuck?” Gomez said, bending over to grab another rock and lobbing it in return.

Rinn’s ears shot up, then flattened as he dodged the ill-aimed return throw. A blink later, and several rocks flew out as Second Squad fell in around him, screaming their offense.

Another salvo returned, then chaos broke out as Marines across the yard started hucking rocks and dirt clods at each other.

In only moments, Rinn was dodging rocks flying around from most of Echo Company.

Taking advantage of Gomez’s utility as cover, he started grabbing a few rocks of his own. With a massed cry, what looked like half of Delta Company ran into the fray, chucking rocks and clumps of dirt at each other as much as the already-engaged Marines.

Peeking around Gomez as the big Marine wound up, he flinched back from a spray of gravel. A rock glanced off his right horn, and he stumbled as much as dove behind the stack of sandbags for cover.

“Look at these fucking yokels. Leave ‘em alone, and they fight each other.”

“Fucking dumbass Jarheads.”

Rinn turned, spotting a group of humans in slightly different uniforms walking past the yard. Ah. The Army.He tapped Kawalski’s shoulder, nodding in their direction.

Kawalski smiled. “Heh. Can’t leave ‘em out of the fun, can we? Hey, fuckface!” he shouted, hefting a rock. “Eat this!” He lobbed it hard in the direction of the new humans.

The stone arced through the air in a high parabola, then dropped down to bounce off one of the soldier’s helmets.

“Hey, fuck! Who the fuck threw that?”

“You’re mother’s taint!”

“Alright, you fuck, that’s it.” The soldier leaned forward, marching in their direction, several other soldiers at his back.

“Let’s show ‘im, Sarge!”

“TWOOO FIIIVE!” Kawalski shouted at the top of his lungs, drawing the attention of the surrounding Marines. “RETREAT!”

“HELL!” several Marines shouted back. Half a heartbeat later, a hailstorm of rocks and dirt clods rained on the Army platoon.

The soldiers dove for cover, quickly grabbing up their own ammunition and sending off a return volley.

Another Army platoon rounded the corner. Taking barely a second to assess the situation, they dropped their gear and charged to their comrades’ aid. The rest of the Marines quickly forgot their local squabbles, and a line of battle formed as the Army pushed into the yard.

*****

“Everything’s packed and as ready to go as it can be, sir,” Bradford said as she walked back from the outer wall with Meyer. “We can be rolling out in less than twenty minutes from the order to-“ She cut herself off as they cleared the taller portion of the inner wall. That’s not general base noise, that shouting sounds like a fight …

Ahead of them, an Army platoon stopped at the unfinished gate in the inner wall. They dropped gear, and charged into the yard with a chorus of battle cries.

Bradford exchanged a glance with Meyer, then sprinted for the gate alongside her Platoon Lieutenant.

Rounding the corner, they both came to a skidding halt and stared agape at the general melee before them. Lines of Marines and Soldiers were hurling rocks and dirt clods at each other. Several groups were wrestling on the ground. A tiny shield flare drew her attention to a pile of sandbags staged for finishing the gate, where most of Second Squad had hunkered down and was in the middle of wreaking havoc on an Army platoon from their entrenched position.

A Humvee rolled to a stop just short of Bradford and Meyer. Doors opened, and several Soldiers stepped out. Bradford didn’t know any of them, but one was a full bird colonel. Ah, shit …

“ATTENTION ON DECK!” The voice of an Army Sergeant Major cut across the yard with parade ground volume. Soldiers and Marines immediately dropped whatever they were holding, mostly rocks but sometimes other humans, and snapped to attention. A few were slow to respond, or didn’t hear it, and continued their struggles until receiving a few kicks from their compatriots.

Silence fell over the yard just as Michaels walked in from the far end, Colonel Anders, the CO of 5th Marine, on his heels.

Bradford sighed. Well, isn’t this just lovely …

*****

Rinn stood at attention next to the other members of Second Squad. Almost the entirety of Second Battalion was lined up on one side of the yard. Across the way, the Army soldiers were at attention opposite them, getting screamed at by their Sergeant Major. Rinn’s tail tucked between his legs as Marines around him suppressed flinches at the man’s words, clearly audible despite the distance.

On their side, however, was absolute silence. Colonel Anders stood off to the side, silently watching. Lieutenant Colonel Michaels just stared at them with cold detachment. His gaze swept across the Marines for what felt like hours as the Army Sergeant Major made his best attempt at yelling himself hoarse.

“Company Commanders and Senior NCOs in the auditorium tent in five minutes,” Michaels said. He didn’t shout, but his stern voice cut across the battalion. “Sergeant Major, I want this fixed. You got ‘em.” With that, he turned on his heel and marched away. Colonel Anders turned and left beside him.

“You heard the Colonel,” Barakis said, his voice drowning out his Army counterpart’s. “Company Commanders and NCOs fallout! Everyone else, stand by!” The officers and senior NCOs fell out and started a double-time to the tent on the far side of the FOB.

“Platoon sergeants,” he continued once the company triads had moved out of the way. “Form up by squad for inspection. Squads will group PT until all hits are corrected! Move it!”

*****

Six … Tahsh. Seven … Fuck. Eight … Tahsh. Fuck. Tahsh. Ow. Fuuuuuck. Rinn’s arms shook as he pushed himself back up. What number am I on? Fuck. I don’t know. He lowered himself down, just barely able to avoid dropping face-first into the dirt. Round four of fifty … Because the first three didn’t fix the squad’s uniform deficiencies … Stifling a whine, he shoved himself back up, elbows quaking all the way. Fuck. Don’t know what I’m on. Twenty behind? Maybe …

He was steeling himself for another drop when a messenger ran up to Barakis. Across the yard, the Army Sergeant Major finally fell silent, another messenger speaking to him and his CO.

“Battalion!” Barakis shouted, turning back to his Marines. “Recover!”

Rinn collapsed as most of the battalion dropped out of the push-up position and slowly heaved themselves to their feet. He tried to push himself back to his up but found himself laying cheek to the dirt as his arms refused to move.

It took Gomez and Sampson hauling him by his shoulders for him to stand, though he was barely able to do it under his own power. Push-ups weren’t the only exercise they had been doing. Everything is numb …

“Marines, fallout and hydrate! Sergeants, once your men have recovered, get them packed up and ready to move. The Keeblers have finally come out to play!” Barakis turned and marched away.

The Marines looked at each other, panting for breath almost as much as Rinn, not sure how to take this news.

“About fuckin’ time!” Kawalski said, wiping sweat off his brow. “Bastards couldn’t have come out an hour earlier?”

*****

Bradford settled into whatever seating could be found in Echo Company’s HQ tent, alongside the other squad leaders and platoon leaders. A smattering of pens clicked as they pulled out notebooks and pocket brains, a few fidgeting as they waited. The damn keeblers took long enough to try something, whatever it is they’re up to. Timing was pretty convenient for us, too. The rock war’s been all but forgotten in the last few hours. She clicked her own pen a couple times. Though it wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t been sitting idle for so long …

“Alright, everyone, listen up!” Spader said, walking into the tent. It was an actual tent this time around, rather than some camo netting strung between a couple trucks. Had time to set up some real luxuries here. The murmur of conversation and penclick fidgeting died down as Spader walked to the front of the group. A couple staffers followed behind carrying an easel and what looked like a stack of maps. Bradford noted his movements were a little stiff, and the edges of his collar were crusted with dried sweat.

“As you’ve no doubt heard by now,” he said as the staffers set up the easel and hung the maps on it. “The elves have finally started a counter-attack.” He glanced at the maps being stacked on the easel, and frowned. “That’s not the one I told you to put up first.”

“Sorry, sir,” the corporal said, taking a step toward the easel before Spader waved him off.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, waving them away. He flipped through the handful of sheets clipped to the easel until he found the right one, folding the others over the top, out of the way. “We’re here,” he said, tapping a blue circle on the map. “Recon has picked up a large elven force over here.” He tapped a region to their northwest. “It’s moving south, and maneuvering to slip between us here at FOB McCaffery, and Third Battalion over at FOB Glenn, to our west.”

He turned away from the map. “Intel on the exact nature and content of their forces is limited. We’re not sure how, but they seem to be able to pick out our recon flights, even the high-altitude ones, and get under cover or go invisible before we’re able to get a good look at them. We’ve surprised them a couple times, but most of our intel on this force is coming from some new tech the geek squad back home has cooked up, and satellite recon. The tech is experimental, and sat coverage is spotty, at best, but it looks like this force is about half the size of the force we wiped out at FOB Williams.”

“That’s still a lot of troops, sir,” Lieutenant Reed said, getting nods from half the company, not just his own Second Platoon.

“It is,” Spader said. “But satellite photos and a couple recon flights that surprised them didn’t see any towers, nor has any of the radar sweeps picked up any returns that would indicate a three-story hunk of metal, so they don’t seem to have brought their big guns. That leaves them prime targets for everything we can throw at them.”

He flipped the maps back down, then flipped the top map back over. “Now, intel thinks they’re heading down this valley, here,” he traced a line between the two FOBs, but closer to Second Battalion’s position. “The hills on either side give them some cover to slip between us and Third Battalion, and the terrain isn’t great for moving directly against them from our positions.” He paused. “Or it wouldn’t be, without modern vehicles.”

Paper ruffled as he pulled the top map back down. “Intel thinks they’re going to move near this position, here,” he said, tapping a low rise in the center of an open plain, at the mouth of the valley the elves were moving into. “It’s one of the spots we considered for setting up this FOB, before we found the better spot, here, but it’s still a good, defensible position. That’s where we’re going.” He tapped the spot again. “At their rate of travel, it’ll take them two or three days to get there, if not longer. We can be there in a matter of hours. We’re going to race ahead of them, and dig in in their line of advance. We’re the anvil.”

Two maps flipped over the top of the easel. “The Army’s First Battalion of the Sixteenth will move in behind the keeblers as they advance on us. The doughboys are the hammer. We draw the keeblers in, get them to commit to attack us, then the Army hits their flank from the east. The objective is to pin them against this ridgeline here,” he traced a rise to the northwest of the Marine position. “Set up a crossfire between us and the doughboys, and pound them flat.”

“The Air Force has three flights of warthogs prepping to provide Close Air Support, and they’ll be trading off in pairs. We’ll also have the two Viper flights that just set up here at McCaffery and the Army just moved half a squadron of Apaches into FOB Ermey. More air power is prepping to have a go, but the big, new airfield at Tolkien only just went fully operational last week. Most of the big stuff the flyboys have to send will still be coming from the other side of the portal.”

Sergeant Mayfield, one of Third Platoon’s squad leaders, raised his hand. “Sir, why don’t the flyboys just bomb the fuck out of them before they even get close?”

“Because we don’t actually know their exact position,” Spader said. “We know their rough location, and we can guess at where they’re at, but the area they could be is miles across.” He shook his head. “Top brass isn’t ready to commit that much ordnance without a sure target. If they drop it all, and miss, we’ll still be facing twenty thousand pissed-off keeblers, and all our big air power’s on its way back through the portal to rearm and refuel. For now, we’re holding it in reserve. Once we pin the bastards down, the flyboys’ll be standing by to come in and pound them flat. Oorah?”

“Oorah,” everyone echoed back.

“The Army’s also setting up an artillery company in FOB Ermey. They’re just moving in now, but they’ll be available alongside our own boys in One-Eleven. That gives us two-and-a-half companies with one-fifty-five mike-mike on call, though you can expect the flyboys to pull back if they start lobbing shells.” He chuckled. “They’re still a bit sensitive about sharing airspace with artillery after they found out how much fire we were lobbing across the sky while the bombers were pounding the keeblers at Williams.” The rest of the Marines chuckled along with him.

Turning back to the easel, he flipped to the very last map, a blown-up photo of the rise they were heading to. “The battalion will be setting up here. We figure we’ll have two or three days to dig trenches and stack sandbags. We’ve got good overlook from where they’ll be coming out of the valley. Echo Company is responsible for this quadrant here,” he tapped a set of lines drawn on the eastern half of the position. “Delta Company has the other quadrant. Weapons Company will be setting up machine gun positions all along the line, with mortars on the back line. When the time comes, First and Second Platoons will be on the front line. Third Platoon will hold on our rear quarter in case they try to encircle us somehow, and will act as a reserve. We don’t expect them to get past us to our rear, not in significant force, and this rock outcropping provides some protection for our back line, but we still don’t want to leave ourselves exposed. Mortars will be in the center, and we’ll have a platoon of Abrams and a platoon of LAVs as support.”

He turned back to the platoon and squad leaders before him. “The rough plan is to have two rows of trenches and sandbag bunkers, but we’ll make final plans and assessments when we get there. We’re bringing two M9 dozers, one of the big loaders, and a pair of backhoes with us to help dig in. We roll out in an hour. Any questions?”

Lieutenant Thrombert raised his hand. “Why are we the anvil? Wouldn’t it make more sense for the Army to go there, instead of us? Half of them aren’t even here yet. Divert the units that are still in transit, and they could start digging in before we could ever get there.”

“Because we’re ready to go, and the Army isn’t,” Meyer said. “The units are trickling in because they’re hauling extra supplies and equipment. They’ve got to drop all that extra gear, refuel, then head back out. That all takes time, time to dig in that they would lose, and they didn’t bring any heavy earthmoving equipment. We’ve been ready to go now for weeks, and in case you forgot, our men have been a little too short in things to occupy their time.”

Reed raised his hand. “Do we have enough of those anti-stealth rods, in case they try to come in all invisible and get the drop on us?”

“Yes. We’re still ramping up production of them back home, but we’ve got plenty enough for this op. We’ll have to pull them out with us when we’re done, or we won’t have enough for the next FOB, but we’re taking all the extras the battalion has. Plus, we’ve got our artificers.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s the other reason we’re the anvil.”

“What about back-up or reserves?” Staff Sergeant West asked. Bradford saw him nudge Thrombert. It was subtle, and she doubted anyone else was positioned to see it.

“Third Battalion will have units on standby to airlift in if we need them, and First Battalion will be doing the same here. We can’t know for sure that the keeblers won’t divert to attack FOB Glenn or FOB McCaffery, so First and Third will be staying put unless we need them. They’ll also be ready to move out and cut the elves off in case they manage to slip past the doughboys and retreat back up the valley.”

He glanced around the room. “Any other questions?” Nobody raised their hand. “Good. We’ll make a final assessment and decision on how to dig in once we get there. I’ll expect inputs from you all then. Retreat!”

“Hell!” they all chorused back.

“Dismissed.”

*****

“Man, this fucking sucks. How many more of these fucking things do we have to fucking fill?” Sampson dropped the spade of his shovel in the dirt, leaning against it while the latest sandbag was tied off.

“We fill ‘em until Staff Sergeant says we have enough,” Kawalski said.

“Man, there’s hescoes and sandbags all over the place. You’re fucking sittin’ on a stack of a hundred of ‘em, at least! We damn near made ourselves a whole ‘nother outpost!” Johnson said, a couple of his buddies from Third Squad nodding in agreement.

Tambor, another rifleman from Third Squad, wiped sweat from his brow. “It’s like my old pappy used to say, ‘If the cow’s already growin’ a calf, lettin’ the bull fuck ‘er again ain’t gonna get you another one.’”

Kawalski covered a laugh with a cough. “Just keep packin’, bitch tits. Sandbags save lives.”

“Well, then, how come you ain’t packin?” Kimber asked.

“’Cause I’m supervisin’, duh.”

“Yeah, and who’s keepin’ watch?” Johnson asked. “What if they invisible their way right up to us? How would we know?”

“Didn’t your Sergeant tell you what the plan was?” Kawalski asked.

“Nah, never got the chance to.” Johnson shrugged, holding open another canvas sack for Sampson. “The LT blabbered on about heroics ‘n patriotism ‘n shit fer twenty minutes, then sent us all over here to pack sandbags, ‘n Staff Sergeant Rickles pulled Sergeant Byrne away for somethin’.”

“Well, we got the heavy equipment diggin’ trenches ‘n fillin’ hescoes, right?” Kawalski said, leaning forward, waving at the loader dumping a bucket full of earth into another big bag. “And us over here diggin’ fightin’ holes and packin’ sandbags, while Second Platoon is posted up on lookout. They’ve got them anti-invisibility rods all set up in a perimeter at two hundred meters, and had enough extra they scattered them out across the field around us.” He settled back on his sandbag couch. “Plus, scuttlebutt says the geeks back home’ve figured out some bullshit that can pick up when elves are invisible and nearby.” He pointed above him. “Our eye in the sky up there’ll let us know if they try to pull any sneaky fuck-fuck games.”

“What about claymores?” Grimes from First Squad asked.

“Did you haul up enough to blanket a whole field in your pack?” Kawalski glared at him. “Didn’t think so.”

“We have some,” Edison said, dumping a shovel full into the bag Grimes was holding. “But if they’re tripping them, they’ve broken through the concertina wire and we’re probably calling Final Defensive Fire on our own position.”

“Alright, boys, that’s enough sandbags for now,” Bradford said, walking up to the working party. “Take what you’ve made and stack them in another row behind this wall, here.”

“But, Jabs,” Davies said, looking up from where he had been organizing the empty sacks, “That wall’s already two bags thick!”

“Yeah, and a third row makes it that much harder to knock over, Corporal Davies. Stack it up!”

“Aye, aye, Sergeant …” he grumbled as the Marines formed a line to start passing sandbags.

“You, too, Kawalski. You’ve skated enough.”

“… Aye, Sergeant.” The lanky Marine reluctantly slid off his throne of sandbags and joined the daisy chain.

Bradford slung her rifle, and fell in beside him.

“Yo, real talk, tho,” Santelli said, grunting as he passed a sandbag. “Are these fuckin’ pussy ass elves eva gonna show up? I’ve been schvitzin’ my ass off in the hot-ass sun all fuckin’ day here, all fuckin’ day yesterday, and all fuckin’ day the day before, and I swear to fuckin’ god, if I have to pack another goddamn fuckin’ sandbag, Imma flag down the nearest fuckin’ Keebler and have him put a fuckin’ spellbolt in my fuckin’ brain, bro.”

“Don’t hold back, tell us how you really feel,” Edison said, taking another bag from him.

“Fuck you. I hope your fuckin’ cat gets fuckin’ rabies.”

Bradford shared a chuckle with the other Marines. He’s gotta be the most entertainingly angry person I’ve ever met.

“Hey, Jabs, where’s Shields?” Kawalski asked, taking a bag from her. “You two havin’ a lover’s quarrel? I do couples therapy on the side.”

“Fuck you, Kawalski.”

“Nah, seriously, Sampson and I break up so often, I figured I’d put all that experience to good use. I’m real cheap, only charge fifty bucks a session.”

“Kawalski,” Sampson shouted from further down the line, “Being too stupid to know you’re not ever going to beat a gay man in a game of Gay Chicken is not the same as having a relationship!”

“My love for you, Sampson, is wild and free, like a stallion on the open prairie, but you keep trying to take my chocolate cherry out of wedlock!”

“Goddamnit, Kawalski.” Bradford chuckled, shaking her head.

“Seriously, though, where is Shields? I’d hate for us to be missin’ our portable shield generator when the Keeblers finally show up. Ain’t fashionable.”

“He’s taking a shit. That double hit of hot sauce finally cleared last week’s MREs out.”

“Speaking of taking a shit,” Thorne said, grimacing as he passed off a bag and stepped out of line. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Dude, again?” Johnson called after him, but he was already gone.

Bradford turned to receive another bag, and found Rinn stepping into the line next to her. He wrinkled his nose, taking a bag and passing it over. “I think Thorne just shit himself.”

“I fucking swear,” Johnson said. “This mother fucker is always shitting himself. I don’t know how he keeps his underwear clean!”

“Hey, you remember when we hit that Keebler camp at Backstreet? He dropped a whole-ass turd in his drawers beforethe elves showed up.”

“Fuckin’ hell, man.”

“Didn’t he do that to get out of losing an argument about sucking dicks?”

The Marines chuckled.

“Fuck. Dude.” Johnson shook his head. “This mother fucker. Day Fuckin’ One. I was ridin’ shotgun in the Humvee behind his on the ride out from Tolkien, before the big battle. I had to stare at his pale fucking cheeks as he hung his ass out the door of his Humvee and shit a fucking firehose.”

“God damn!”

“That mother fucker needs to get his guts checked.”

“Fuckin’ IBS, brah.”

“Ain’t that disqualifying?”

“Only if it’s bad enough. And even then, not if you lie about it.”

“Lock and load, Marines!” Meyers shouted, walking up to the wall with Staff Sergeant Rickles and the remainder of 1st Platoon. “Flyboys have picked up Keeblers coming in, tryin’ to be sneaky! You boys ready to bring the pain, and teach them not to fuck with America? Oorah!”

“Oorah!” The Marines replied, though a bit lacking in enthusiasm. He’s laying it on a bit thick, lately …

Stowing their shovels, the Marines picked up their rifles and took their places on the line. The ratchet and clack of magazines being checked and actions readied rattled sporadically across the trenches.

Rinn took his place, resting his stave on the sandbag wall that topped their entrenched position as he looked out at the mouth of the valley across the field.

Silence fell as the last weapons were checked and readied, and the Marines waited.

And waited.

“Where they at?”

“LT said they were coming.”

“Yeah, but, like, they’re almost here, coming, or, we’re gonna be staring at an empty field for three hours, coming?”

“I’ll stare at your mom for three hours, cummin’.”

“Man, fuck you.”

“No, fuck you.”

“All of you shut up and listen,” Miller growled, his cheek welded to his buttstock as he scanned his rifle along the field.

“What? I don’t hear anything …”

“The birds.”

“Yeah? I don’t hear ‘em … Oh, fuck …”

“I still don’t see them! Should we shoot? When will we see them!?”

“Relax, we’ll know well before they get close,” Rinn said, flicking an ear at the nervous Marine. “We didn’t have enough disruption rods to create a second perimeter further out, so we buried them across the field, set to the widest effect area.” He rolled his ears. “They won’t disrupt more than a small group of elves at that setting, but they will ping an alert to the controlling artificer if anything passes through their area.”

“So, you made a minefield of invisible motion detectors?”

Rinn flicked an ear, not entirely understanding the reference. “Sure. Any invisible elves pass by, and we’ll-“ he cut off mid-sentence as several chimes sounded in his ear. “Multiple rods just pinged. Tahsh! They’re already half-way across the field!” He readied his stave, but a massive disruption spell burst from the opposite side of the battalion before he could ready his own.

The burst was so powerful, and noisy, he could see the hairs on the back of Bradford’s neck standing on end. “Well, there goes a whole mana crystal,” he said. She’s getting better, but still bleeding way too much energy on her projection spells.

The spell blast hit, sending disruptive shockwaves across three quarters of the plain. Like a mirage ripped away, a massive line of elven cavalry was revealed a quarter of a mile from the Marines’ trenches.

Their invisibility shattered, the elves dropped the remains of the spell. Dozens of formations were revealed, each with three waves of double-ranked cavalry in shining plate armor. They were already on the trot, closing the distance.

Several horns sounded across the field, and the elves spurred their armored queshi mounts into a gallop, lowering long lances into attack position.

Shouts and orders to open fire were passed over the radio, accompanied by a long whistle. Kawalski didn’t wait for the order to finish, and it took barely a moment for machine guns across the line open up.

Lead and tracers streamed across the field, biting into the elven formation as they started their charge.

The Abrams each fired in turn, their godhammers thumping in fury. No explosion followed, but their shot ripped down whole segments of the elven formations.

The elves continued their charge, undeterred.

The LAVs opened up with their rapid-thumping guns. Stitching 25mm explosive charges across the elven line, they shredded queshi and elves alike.

Rinn’s chest thumped as another salvo from the Abrams punched more holes in the elven formation. Every machine gun mounted on each tank opened up, streaming fire across the field as the main gun reloaded.

Despite all the gunfire, the thunder of the queshi hooves could be felt through the ground as they continued their charge.

Four hundred tails. Elves continued to drop as a rapid salvo of mortar rounds thumped around them, spraying dirt, smoke, and gore into the air. But there were thousands of them. The marines all fired with their rifles, picking more of them off, but still they came.

Three hundred tails. More explosions rippled across the elven line as the tanks fired, tearing craters into the ground but no longer ripping down whole swaths of the elven formation. Kawalski burned through belts of ammunition as fast as he could reload them, and so was every other machine gunner.

Queshi tumbled to the ground as their bodies were riddled with bullets and shrapnel. Many of their riders fell with them, just as torn and punctured. Often the rider survived his mount, jumping clear as the beast fell. Drawing long cavalry sabers, they continued the charge on foot.

Multiple streams of machine gun fire from the far side of the entrenchment lit up with Yahgi’s trademark enhancement glow. The rounds punched through elves and kept going, taking out the elf behind it, sometimes even an elf or two in the second wave. Only the long body of a queshi was enough to stop them.

Along the elven flanks, hundreds of soldiers, perhaps a thousand or more on each side, split to pass around the Marine fortification and encircle their position.

Kawalski burned through another belt, the barrel of his gun glowing hot. Cursing, he pounded on the handle until it popped free. Quickly jamming his spare barrel home, he lifted the top cover and slapped a new belt on the tray before slamming the top cover back down. His hands moved so fast they were a blur.

Davies switched to full auto and dumped his magazine. With shaking hands, he fumbled for a replacement before jamming it home and dumping it again. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Miller kept his cheek welded to his rifle as he fired a steady beat even as more Marines around him switched to full auto and started dumping ammunition. An elf or queshi dropped with every squeeze of his trigger.

The elves kept coming.

Bradford thumped out a 40mm grenade. The explosion took down two queshi and one of their riders. Flipping to full auto, she stitched rounds down the line before reloading.

Two hundred tails. The line was chaos. A constant roar. All but the Abrams’ main guns buried in the indistinct drone of massed machine gun fire.

Still the elves came.

Queshi who survived their riders continued forward in the charge, caught in the press as the elven formations converged on the much smaller Marine battalion.

Rinn started pouring out spells as fast as he could form them. Spellshards. Firebolts. Lightning bursts. Anything that came to mind, as fast as he could think it.

His mana crystal ran dry. He jammed another one in. And soon another.

One hundred tails. Rinn jammed another mana crystal into his stave. Everyone was on full auto now.

Fifty tails. The queshi were in full sprint. How do they have anyone left? We’re going to be overrun.

Forty …

Thirty …

Twenty …

Ten.

The last surviving elf stumbled and fell to the ground ten meters from the Marine trenches. Falling onto the first line of concertina wire, his body and mount were ripped apart by two dozen machine guns and hundreds of rifles.

As the echo of the last shots rolled back to them from the ridge at the western edge of the field, the silence that fell was deafening.

*****

“Holy shit.” Bradford looked out across a field of carnage. Hundreds of the elk-like horses had survived. Some screamed in the throes of death, others fled in panic. Not a single elf remained alive.

“Is … Is that it? Is it over?”

“I think so …”

“Fuck. That was close.”

Bradford looked at her watch. Holy fuck. That … That all lasted less than a minute … She looked back out across the field, what once was so peaceful, now strewn with mangled corpses. On reflex, she pulled her half-spent magazine out of her rifle, looked at it, then stuffed it in her dump pouch before replacing it with a fresh one.

Kawalski looked over his shoulder at the noise, blinking at her, then shook his head. He turned and popped the still-glowing barrel off of Lucy, swapping the first barrel back on. “Gomer! Where’s that extra ammo I made you carry?”

The rest of the squad quickly followed suit, replacing magazines and ammo belts, triggering a wave across the battalion.

Bradford turned and saw Staff Sergeant Rickles talking to Meyer. He was talking low, and she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Or maybe I just can’t hear shit right now … Meyers wasn’t saying anything. He just stared out at the field, his face pale. The magazine in his rifle was empty, the bolt still locked to the rear.

Rickles locked to attention. “Aye, aye, sir!” he said, loud enough for the Marines around him to hear. Stepping away from Meyer, he grabbed two Marines from First Squad and sent them running back to the supply depot in the central fortification.

“Well, so much for the cavalry,” Sampson said.

“Heh, yeah,” Kimber said, pulling out a water bottle and taking a swig. “Taught ‘em the hard way why you don’t charge massed machine gun fire.”

“Haha. Yeah.” Edison chuckled. “That was like one of those battle simulator games.”

“Guess they didn’t think we kicked their ass hard enough the first time around,” Kawalski said.

The Marines started to chuckle and laugh as the tension eased. Bradford started to smile with them, then Rinn’s ears shot up in rigid surprise.

She followed his gaze as he stood and looked over the sandbags, out at the chewed-up field, and she registered the gaping holes their own fire tore into the disruption fence. Rinn’s ears drooped. “Tahsh.”

He swung his stave up and spat a disruption burst across the battlefield. His pulse was much smaller and far less energetic than Yahgi’s, but his spell structure is flawless. The pulse burst across a quarter of the field, revealing an elven Infantry formation at close range.

Like the cavalry, the elven infantry dropped their invisibility as soon as they were discovered, revealing thousands of soldiers in rank formation, just two hundred meters away.

Two hundred meters behind them stood two mage towers.

One of the Abrams snapped off a shot, striking the tower to Bradford’s right just below the cupola. The exploding HEAT round ripped the top of the tower apart, sending the mangled remains of its top tumbling in one direction as the tower toppled in another.

The other tower popped up its shield, blocking two tank shells fired into it. The bubble that formed didn’t cover the entire elven force, but blanketed a large portion of the infantry on the western side of their formation.

The remaining tanks and Marines opened fire. No order needed to be given.

As the rounds started to cut into their lines, the elves swung large, scutum-like shields in front of them. The ornate shields resisted rifle fire, but the heavier rounds from the 240s and M2s still punched through.

Bradford thumped a grenade into the front of the elven formation. Several elves dropped, opening a brief hole in their shield wall, and showing the shields were not proof against explosives.

The surviving mage tower began its slow advance, following behind the elven infantry. It opened fire, slapping one of entrenched Abrams with a heavy spellblast. The Abrams spat fire and fury in return.

“Where the hell is the goddamn Army?” Kimber shouted.

Another heavy spellblast slammed into one of the center trenches, sending dirt, sandbags, and bodies tumbling into the air.

“Forget the goddamn Army! Where the hell is our fucking air support?” Kawalski said, slapping another belt into his gun.

No sooner were the words spoken than a pair of Cobras roared overhead, dumping rockets into the tower’s shield and completely ignoring the minimum aircraft stand-off range.

They broke away as the tower fired at them. Splitting to either side of the shield bubble, they narrowly evaded an airburst.

Shardbursts from elven mages slapped into the sandbags in front of them and flared overhead. The Marines continued to pour heavy fire despite being peppered by spellfire from elven mages.

The elves maintained their advance.

The tanks thumped their fury in a joint salvo, focusing their fire on the tower. More lights flashed from the western trenches as Yahgi spread her enhancement. Bradford counted glowing streams from ten machine guns now. Each round ripped straight through infantry shields, armor, and multiple elves.

As the Cobras circled around to make another pass, several explosions ripped through the closing elven formations on the eastern flank. Directly in front of Second Squad a wave of elves started dropping as streams of tracer fire cut into them from the edge of the field to their right.

Bradford looked to the edge of the field, her heart leaping as several Abrams, Bradleys, and Humvees rolled out of the trees. The Army had arrived.

The elven formations shifted to their right as their eastern flank started to crumble. Trying to fit as many soldiers under the tower shield as they could, they stalled their advance.

One Abrams revved its engine up as the tower spat another shot at the entrenched Marines, chewing another hole in their fortifications. With a growl, it drove forward, up and out of its hull-down position. Slamming back onto the ground as it bounced hard on its treads, the tank charged the tower.

The other three Abrams roared out of their dug-in positions moments later, spitting MG and cannon fire into the elven shield as they followed suite.

More gunfire tore across the elven formations still exposed as a series of missiles slammed into the shield. Looking past the elven formation, Bradford spotted a flight of Apaches hovering above the trees, unloading fire. The two Cobras rumbled back overhead, strafing the elves’ right flank with guns and rockets.

The Abrams’ tracks were painted red with blood as they rolled over the fallen bodies littering the battlefield. Shardbursts plinked against them without effect. The tower hit one in the front glacis. It shuddered, chunks of metal flying off, but it kept driving.

Another took a glancing hit down its side. The tank survived, but its left track was ripped apart, bringing it to a grinding halt as it spun a quarter circle.  The remaining Abrams continued their charge forward.

A third shot missed as the first tank swerved around an obstruction, then it breached the shield. The coax spat a stream of lead as the main gun swung on target and fired. The tracer was barely visible before the 120mm HEAT round slammed into the cupola at the top of the tower. The explosion ripped it to pieces. The tower stumbled and fell as an uncontrolled current of mana arched across its spines and loops, ripping it apart as the shield collapsed.

The shockwave of the 120mm gun’s report flattened the elves in front of it before the tank slammed into their formation. The tanks continued their charge, smashing more of the tightly-packed infantry under their treads than with their machine guns.

The Army charged out of the tree line, pressing into the elves’ left flank with two full tank platoons, six Bradleys, and two dozen Humvees.

The elven lines collapsed into a full retreat.

“Up and at ‘em, boys!” Spader shouted, crawling up onto the sandbag wall. “They’re on the ropes! We can’t let the Army have all the fun!”

“Two-Five!” Bradford shouted, crawling up out of the trench half a second behind Kawalski.

“RETREAT, HELL!” the Marines roared as they charged out of their trenches and fighting holes in pursuit.

The Army vehicles spread to the North, cutting the elves off, forcing them to collapse against the steep ridge to the west of the field. The Marine tanks halted as the elves retreated around them, waiting for their own infantry to catch up before advancing.

Pressed against the ridge, their numbers severely diminished, the elves engaged invisibility.

The humans slowed their approach, their fire trickling off.

“Are you fucking idiots?” Kawalski shouted. “They’re still there!” He brought Lucy up to hose into the elves when they suddenly reappeared.

The entire surviving elven contingent returned from thin-air, and promptly fell over dead, their own swords in their guts.

***

A blood-curdling shriek right in front of her nearly jolted Bradford out of her skin. “Fucking shit!” she shouted, stumbling back and nearly falling into the blood-soaked mud. The Queshi in front of her had renewed its exhausted struggles as she approached.

“You good, Jabs?” Dubois said as chuckles spread around the squad.

“Yeah,” she said, recovering from the start. The wounded animal’s cries had grown softer again, gurgling from blood in its lungs. She drew her sidearm and stepped up to the dying creature, putting it out of its misery with a single gunshot.

Sporadic gunfire echoed across the field as Marines and Soldiers picked through the remains of elven army. Looking for surviving elves, useful equipment, and ending the suffering of dying mounts they could do nothing else for.

Bradford holstered her pistol, the magazine already half-expended. There’s a lot more of the creatures alive than I would have expected. And none of the elves, again. “Anyone find anything?”

“I got a sword,” Kawalski said as he walked by. “It ain’t one of them fancy lightsaber-edge ones, but it’s still got the sheath thing.”

“Anything useful, Kawalski,” she rolled her eyes. She kicked the mangled legs of the elf next to the queshi, a female who had caught as many machine gun rounds as her mount. “This one has fancier armor, might have been an officer of some kind.”

“She’s a pretty one,” Kimber said, coming over to take a closer look. “Well, she was before she took a bullet to the face.” He knelt down and started searching the body, pulling the armor off as he checked for pockets or hidden pouches.

“Heh.” Davies said, wandering over. “Your mother know you like to feel up corpses?”

“Fuck you, Davies.”

“You sure you don’t want a selfie with your new girlfriend?” he asked. “We can post it online, show your mom who you’re bringing home for thanksgiving.”

“Shut the fuck up, man.”

“Nah, seriously, lean in and give her a smooch,” the chunky Marine pulled out his phone.

“I said fuck off, Davies,” Kimber said, turning to glare at him.

“Hey, man-“

Bradford stepped in front of him, getting in his face. “Drop it,” she said. “Go check those bodies over there.”

“Look, Jabs, I’m just trying to have a bit of fun, you-,” he said, setting a hand on her shoulder.

She reached up and yanked it off, bodily shoving him back a step. “I said drop it, Corporal. Now go check those bodies over there, that’s a fucking order.”

Davies glared at her, gritting his teeth a moment. “Aye, aye, Sergeant.” He turned and walked away in the general direction Bradford indicated, but didn’t stop to check any bodies.

She watched him go, clenching and unclenching her fists, her nose twitching as she ground her teeth together. With a deep breath, she looked her hands out straight and exhaled slowly, pushing the matter aside.

With another breath, she turned back to Kimber. “Find anything?”

“Nothin’ that’s intel,” he said. Neither he nor Dubois gave any reaction to the incident. “Just shit that looks like medieval field kit.” He frowned, standing up. “And this.” He passed her a gold and silver chain attached to a moderate-sized pendant made of white gold or platinum. “It was tucked under her armor.”

She took the jewelry from him, and upon closer examination realized it wasn’t a pendant, but a large locket. Popping the clasp and opening the locket revealed a portrait of an elven woman in the same armor as the corpse and a matching face, minus the bullet holes. She stood beside two elven children. One was a boy who looked to be in his late teens, the other was a girl who was barely a toddler. Both children bore strong resemblance to the woman in the portrait.

Bradford stared at the portrait for a long moment.

“A buddy of mine is in Three-Five,” Kimber said. “He helped sort through the bodies after the first fight. He didn’t talk about it much, but he said he found a couple things like that on a few bodies, and on as many of the ones that killed themselves as the ones that didn’t.”

“That’s fucked up,” Dubois said, looking at the portrait as Bradford handed it to him. “Don’t they want to get back to their families?” He handed the locket back.

“We don’t know their culture,” she said, taking the locket back. “They might think they’re already dead, or glorify dying in battle, or consider defeat to be the ultimate dishonor, or something.”

“Still fucked up,” Kimber said.

“Yeah,” she said, tucking the locket into a pouch.

“Hey, Sergeant Bradford,” Gomez said, stepping over and looking like he very much wanted to be holding a hat in his hands.

“Yeah, Gomer, what’s up?”

“I’ve been thinkin’, about the fight and all, and … What do we do if they come at us like this when we’re not all dug in?”

“Probably just run away,” she said, turning to face him. “Pack it into a Humvee and drive away faster than they can ride. Then, when they’re all gassed out, swing back around and pick ‘em off at range.”

“Okay, but …” he frowned. “Packin’ everyone into trucks ain’t quick. What if they get the jump on us?”

“Well, we should know they’re in the area, at least,” Bradford said. “I don’t know what it is, but the Intel weenies have figured out a way to tell when the elves are nearby, even if they’re invisible. I also heard Captain Spader talking about artillery shells. Sounds like the brass have started ordering up the rounds that drop mines. Same for cluster bombs. If they want to throw a cavalry charge at us like that again, we’ll just drop a minefield in their way.” She patted his shoulder. “And if that isn’t enough, we’ll just stab ‘em with our bayonets, oorah?”

“Oorah,” Gomer said with a smile.

“Fuck!” They all turned to face the wet thud that followed and found Elder scrabbling to his hands and knees, half-covered in mud and gore. “Oh, fuck, eughh! Plegh, ugh! It got in my fucking mouth! Eugh!” He retched, puking up the contents of his stomach.

The Marines around him laughed.

“Oh, oh no, I can’t- I can’t handle-“ Sampson turned and vomited.

The Marines cursed and laughed as they jumped out of the way, even as Santelli joined the wave of sympathetic puking.

Episode 18.5

Tapping his fingers in time to the music echoing around his cell, Tyriel walked his empty tray to the collection bin at the door. His meals still followed a rotation, but it now took more time to cycle through his meal options. And even when the cycle repeats, there is variety. Last week, this selection was served in thin squares. This week, it is thick triangles.

The song ended as he slid the bin shut, and the next song made him frown. With a sigh of disgust, he strode back over to his MP3 Player. With a few taps of the controls, he removed the song from his main playlist, and added it to the special playlist of songs he didn’t like. It had no special label, he didn’t know the written language, but in his head, he called it ‘The List of Senseless Noise.’ “Why do they even consider that music?” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “The tune is just bland repetition, and not even the translation spell can make sense of their mumbling …”

The low hum of a bass string instrument filled the room as the next song played. Satisfied, he set the MP3 Player on his pillow and in a single motion, folded himself down to sit cross-legged next to the bed.

With an almost contented sigh, he cleared his mind and settled into his daily meditation and mana collection. His pool was still pitifully small, far too miniscule to do anything of consequence, but it was steadily growing larger.

Completing his meditation as the song ended, he stood and stretched. The music shifted to an upbeat piece featuring drums and wind instruments that stirred in him a desire to move. If only I had more space to exercise …

He barely finished the thought when the locks of his door rattled. He reached over and paused the music as the guards entered, and followed the familiar routine.

One thousand and two steps, twenty-six turns, and one thousand sixteen enki of waiting later, the door of the interrogation room opened and John walked in.

“Good morning, Tyriel,” John said, setting out his notebook and folder in the same order he always did.

“Good morning, John.” Tyriel made a note of the rough time of day. I thought it was closer to evening than morning. Their meals rotating at not quite seven days instead of a proper nine-day week doesn’t help …

“I trust you are well?” Tyriel nodded in answer. “And how have you been enjoying your MP3 player?”

“Very much, John. I appreciate you getting it for me. It is nice to have something to break up the interminable silence.” He smirked. “You even managed to produce a few pieces that are barely passable as music.”

“I’m glad we could produce something that satisfies your lofty standards of culture.”

“Oh, I would hardly go that far, John,” Tyriel said with another bemused smirk. “It is still a far cry from anything even the basest elf would call culture.”

John chuckled. “If you say so.” He flipped open his notebook. “Have you given any thought to the type of songs you would like to have more of?”

“Yes,” Tyriel nodded. Remain placid. Do not seem too eager. “I created three playlists. One is all the music on the MP3, one is songs I find particularly tolerable, and the other is a list of nonsensical noise that is an insult to the concept of music.”

John nodded, making a note on his tablet.

“I would like more of the tolerable list, particularly the works of the one called Bee Thoven, and ask that you remove the senseless noise.” He paused. “I advise that you attempt to destroy all record of them. Your species would certainly be better off.”

John smirked. “I’ll pass on your recommendation to my superiors,” he said, writing a longer passage in his notepad.

Setting pen and pad down, he looked up at Tyriel. “You know how this works, though. If I’m going to convince my superiors to let me add to your music collection, I need to give them something in return.”

“We have talked so much, John, I’m not sure what more I could tell you.”

“You’re ten thousand years old, Tyriel. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. I highly doubt you’ve told me everything you know.”

“Hmmm … I sometimes forget how fleeting your existence is,” he said. “Not every millennium brings something new, you know.”

“What about your mage towers? Is there anything else you can tell me about them? How fast can they travel?”

“Only at a modest walking pace when the shield is up,” he said. “It takes fine control to extend the shield all the way to the ground without interference or leaving a gap that could be exploited.” He smirked. “But you already knew that. With the shield down, they can move quite quickly, as fast as a charging queshi. Faster, if the mages have particularly strong stomachs.” He took a breath. “On the march, over distance, they can keep up with a trotting queshi, and can pull enough mana from surrounding trees to maintain that speed in a forest without tapping into mana stores.”

John made several notes, then nodded for him to continue when Tyriel raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Not good enough, then.He repressed an internal sigh.

“We have several stables of towers.” He shrugged. “I do not know exactly how many are in each, nor their exact locations, but we maintain some hundreds in reserve.” He snorted. “Not that this matters to many of our archemages, who insist on having their own, custom tower constructed to their own specifications.” He chuckled. “Depending on the need and the mage, they sometimes get their wish. Sometimes they get one that matches their ‘unique’ demands pulled from the stables.”

John scribbled several more notes in his tablet. “How do your towers pull mana from trees?”

“They give it freely to any elf that asks it,” Tyriel said, smirking. “Even the trees know their proper place. Your pitiful people can’t even live up to the standards of a simple conifer,” he added, shaking his head.

John refused to rise to Tyriel’s bait, not even rolling his eyes. This elicited a smile from the elf. “What is the difference between a mage and an archmage?”

“Some would say a few tens of thousands of years of knowledge and experience.” Tyriel snorted. “But any archemage actually worth the title knows that time alone is not a sufficient measure of power and ability.” He shook his head. “To be a true master of magic, as with any skill, takes great effort, dedication, and no small measure of talent.” He leaned forward. “Spending twenty thousand years practicing a thing doesn’t count for much if you only practice it once or twice a year, and practicing a thing twenty thousand times doesn’t count for anything if you practice it wrong.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Even perfect practice only counts for so much without the experience of practical application.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Every archemage has an insufferable ego. Some are better deserved than others.”

“Are you an archemage?”

“Ha! No!” Tyriel shook his head. “I told you before, John, I am a gemblade,” he said, straightening his spine.

John raised an eyebrow, making a note on his pad. “But you were wielding a mage staff when we captured you, in addition to your gemblade.”

“I wield a gemstaff, yes,” he said with a nod. “And I dare say I could challenge many a supposed archemage who has barely dared to tread outside of Pelianor, but I am not a mage.” he shook his head. “Not in the proper sense.”

“Then every gemblade also wields a gemstaff?”

Tyriel scoffed. “Hardly. The effort of crafting a single mana gem would likely kill most elves, nevermind a second.” He leaned back with a smirk. “I am a polygem. One of the few elves with the capability to craft a second mana gem who has dared to make the attempt.”

“Could you make a third?”

With a snort, he shook his head. “I might be supremely confident in my abilities, John, but not even the most incompetently arrogant archemage would actually dare make such an attempt. We give part of ourselves to the creation of a mana gem. Creating the first is a harrowing experience, the second a hundred times more so. Creating a third is a legendary accomplishment that has almost always ended in cataclysmic failure.”

“Almost always?” John raised an eyebrow over his notepad.

Tyriel rolled his shoulders. “There have been maybe half a dozen successes in all of elven history, and most of those are shrouded in the ancient myths and legends of the chaotic times before the Empire was formed.”

John nodded, scrawling another note onto his tablet.

The questions continued for another hour before John tapped his pen on his tablet and folded the cover over the paper, signaling an end to their session. As they exchanged their parting pleasantries, Tyriel suppressed his disappointment at the end of the day’s entertainment, and better today than before. With more than just mind-numbing silence awaiting me in my cell, I felt a little closer to his normal self.

Nine hundred twenty-nine enki later, the guards returned. His journey back to his cell was nine hundred fifteen steps, with thirty-one turns.

Returning to his cell, he immediately noticed that his MP3 Player had been moved. It took considerable effort to follow the routine of having his shackles removed and waiting for the guards to leave.

As soon as he heard the locks rattle on his door, he hurried to his bunk to retrieve the device. Pressing the button to turn it on, the screen lit up with the familiar chime. His playlists were still there, but two had been renamed to “Like” and “Dislike.” Simple and crude, but what more could I really expect?

Another playlist had also been added. The device’s voice read it as “New.”

Inside, he found twenty new songs from the musicians on his Like list, and thirty more songs from musicians he didn’t recognize.

Sitting down on his bunk, he set this “New” list to shuffle and hit play. The music started, and he leaned back with a smile.