After two weeks, he was declared duty-ready and released from the ward. He donned his utilities, laced on his boots, and reported to the parade square. He had barely gotten into position in front of squad Charlie when he heard the shout of “Captain on deck!”

The Marines snapped to attention as C.O. Mitchell strode to the head of the formation.

He turned to face them.  “Stand easy. I’ve got some good news and some bad news. The good news is that we’re un-assing this place. Recon teams are returning, and everyone should pack their gear and prepare to shove off. We’re all going home for some well-earned R&R.”

A cheer went up. “The bad news,” the cougar growled, “is that the brass wants us to complete one more job before we rotate. The leaders of squads Charlie, Echo, Foxtrot and Zulu will gear up and meet me at the operations room at oh-eight hundred hours for briefing. The rest of you, report to an NCO. To your duties, dismissed.”

As everyone left the drill square, chatting excitedly, Sheppard headed for the squad’s prefab. He strapped on his body armor and attached the load-bearing harness, then field-stripped his M4, reassembled it, and went to the range. The coyote slotted himself in his usual position and dropped to a knee. After test firing and adjusting his zero, he took aim at the target furthest away and pulled the trigger. The rifle kicked against his shoulder. The paper target downrange was pocked with a neat three-round cluster in the center of the chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Beretta 9mm come up and fire. A hole appeared between the eyes of a second paper dummy. He turned and saw Hall. The collie pulled back the slide and adjusted her grip, taking no notice of him. He opened his muzzle, meaning to apologize for his behavior, then thought better of it. He said instead “Just one more hurdle, corporal. Then we’re out of here.”

She gave him a curt nod, reloaded and turned her attention back to shooting. Sheppard felt a stab of guilt remembering how he had hurt her, but it had been necessary. Getting to know the collie, and despite his attempts to stay emotionally detached, he’d begun to care for her. He’d always pushed the emotions down, always hidden them. They’d been nothing but trouble for him in the past. Besides, It wasn’t practical or healthy for a Marine to have feelings for a colleague, and especially on the FOB. He didn’t want to get close to her, because he knew she’d be hurt if he were killed. Maybe once this is all over, he thought as he packed his kit, I'll find her and explain myself, apologize, try for a fresh start. He snorted humorlessly. Right. Like THAT’s ever gonna happen.

The coyote hoisted his pack and left.

He found the Ops tent at around 0750, nodded to the servicefur standing guard, and entered. All the monitoring gear had been pushed to one side. A large video screen had been set up against the wall. Mitchell saw him and gestured to one of the chairs set up facing the screen. “Have a seat, Staff Sergeant.”

“Sir!” The noncom snapped a quick salute and obliged. In a couple minutes, the rest of the team leaders had arrived and were seated.

“Looks like we’re a few minutes ahead of schedule,” the cougar remarked. “But you’re all here, so I may as well start now.” He tapped the screen with a plastic wand, and a satellite image of the region came up. He double-tapped a position to the west, and the image magnified to show a dense urban area. Coordinates scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

“This,” he stated, “is Ar Ramadi.”

The captain paused to light a cigar, raised it to his mouth and calmly took a puff. “Population: two hundred and eighty three thousand, most displaced by the insurgent presence. Our intel and recon reports show that the center of their operations is here.” He tapped the panel again, and the image zoomed in to show a district on the outskirts. “Intercepted radio transmissions and phone calls confirm the existence of a sizeable arms and munitions cache located at this point.” A red x appeared on the display. “We’re sending you in to take it out. Completing this objective should put a dent in their supply chain. “Squads Echo, Foxtrot, and Zulu will insert here, here, and here.” Mitchell rapped three points on the screen, and markers became visible. “Hopefully, that’ll contain them. Sheppard, I’m putting you in charge of this mission. You’ll take Charlie and insert at the edge of the district. Expect heavy resistance. Sandwich them in, make sure they don’t move that cache.

“Once you reach it, plant a charge, get clear, fire and forget. Then secure the compound and wait for extraction.” The CO drew deep, then dropped the cigar and ground it into the mud with his boot.

“Any questions?”

Silence.

“Good. We deploy at oh-one hundred hours tomorrow. Get to your tents, brief your squads, and get some sleep. You’re dismissed.”
The Marines saluted and left the prefab. As Eric was about to leave, Mitchell said “And Sheppard, I’ve allocated a couple more Joes to your squad. I’m sorry about Johnson and Sanchez”
The coyote nodded. “Thank you, sir.” The Marine didn’t add that he’d rather not be reminded of what had happened.

He set off for his tent.

***

The roar of the Blackhawks’ rotors filled the air as the fleet of aircraft thundered westward. Sheppard glanced out the open door at the scenery drifting by. Dunes, like a stormy sea frozen in time, stretched out for miles, broken only occasionally by a narrow road or a small outpost. The first light of dawn bathed their edges in a bloody glow, and the rest remained in deep shadow. It was a surreal vista, a thing beautiful and yet sinister at the same time.

Hall, looking troubled, was strapped in across from him, taking in the landscape. The light illuminated the side of her face, and her soft brown fur shone like gold.

He could have stared at her all day;

He forced himself to look away.

Thomas sat beside her, his expression resolute. The gunner was cleaning his M249 with unusual concentration.
So they feel it too, he concluded. This was the kind of mission he’d run with his people many times. So why do I feel like something’s going to go wrong?

The soldier pushed the feelings of unease from his mind, dismissing them as the result of nerves, and returned his gaze to the desert sands. He spotted a city in the distance, the low buildings dark against the horizon. He checked his GPS unit. They were about six kilometers off the insertion point and closing fast. The coyote flicked on his radio.
“Five minutes to dirt, Marines. Get your shit ready. Remember: watch your fields of fire, let your teammates handle your six, and for God’s sake, stay alert. If you ladies can handle that much, we all get back alive. Got that?”

There was a burst of static, and the entire mission replied in unison, drowning out the sound of the engines.
“OORAH!”

Eric allowed himself a grin. Times like these, this was the only job worth doing.
He couldn’t have asked for better males and females.

As the slicks approached the drop point, Sheppard ran a final check on his weapons and kit, then jammed his helmet onto his head and fastened the straps, as the rest of the squad did likewise. The two transports carrying Charlie touched down at the edge of the city; the remaining six roared overhead and disappeared. The sand rose like a hurricane outside the rotors’ downwash.
“MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!”

The troops poured out and sprinted into the relative cover of the alleys, then the choppers jumped into the air and were gone.

Sheppard did a quick headcount.
Hall, Thomas, Peterson, Samuels, Grayson, Zuluaga, Tran, Adams and Willis stood ready.
That was everyone.
“Okay, people,” he barked. “I’m taking point. Hall takes over if I buy it.”
She glared at him; he ignored her.
“Keep your eyes on those windows and alleys, this is NOT a picnic.”

He scanned the street and quickly found the tallest building in the area.
“We’re going to secure that structure. Hall, take Adams, Tran, Peterson and Willis. You’re Team Two. Remainder, on me, Team One.” The coyote recognized the building style. He knelt and drew a rough plan in the sand. Team two, take the back door. I’ll take the front. Once we’re in, I’ll take the west stairs, you take east.” He stood.

“Move out!”

The teams advanced carefully, reaching the entrances without incident. Joseph Zuluaga, the squad’s barrier-smashing ox, prepared to kick in the main door, then stopped, disappointed: it was unlocked.
Eric moved up and cautiously entered the lobby. It was empty. Across the hall, the back door was knocked off its hinges and Team Two tumbled in. Sheppard’s radio fizzled to life.

“Zulu Bird One: clear.”

“Zulu Bird Two: clear.”

Five seconds passed.

“Foxtrot Birds One and Two: We are green, clean, and mean, out.”

Sheppard activated the mic.

“Acknowledged. Echo Bird, what is your status?”
“Approaching LZ now, command.”

He turned to Lauren.
“Okay, let’s get this over with”

 The Marines methodically covered each of the eight floors. The building showed signs of recent insurgent habitation: guns, ammunition, empty cans of food were strewn about; strangely enough, the place was empty. The building would probably have been trapped had the enemy expected an assault.

Barely had the roof been secured when Sheppard’s radio hissed, and a new message came in over the Op frequency.
“Echo Bird to command, the landing zone is hot, repeat, LZ is hot! We are bugging out and heading to your pos – Shit! The fuckers have RPG’s!”

The coyote heard the aircraft’s chain guns roar to life in the background. Charlie squad listened helplessly to the shouts and sounds of gunfire coming in through their earpieces.
Suddenly, the transmission cut. White noise filled the speakers. A few seconds later, a loud Thump echoed between the buildings and reached the squad on the roof.

A black cloud of crows rose off a nearby structure, screeching.

The radio emitted a burst of static, and a loud, panicky voice came through.
“Echo Two to command. Bird One is down. I repeat, we have a Blackhawk down! We’re moving to your position!”

The coyote slammed his fist into the concrete barrier, bruising his knuckles, and growled low. Things had just got more complicated. He felt anger and fear simultaneously rise in him; the Marine held the emotions in check. When he next spoke, his every syllable was strained. He forced himself not to yell.
“Negative, Echo. Reinforce Alpha squad. All except Charlie: secure the roadways.”

“Acknowledged.”
Sheppard walked to the western edge and surveyed the area.
There – the objective’s location was exposed from this angle. It was also likely to be guarded. After Echo One went down, it would be foolishly optimistic to assume that the enemy was still asleep. He pulled his binoculars: sure enough, there were two sentries visible.

He turned to the squad.

“Marksman!”
“Sir!” Grayson stepped forward.
“Stay here. Keep an eye on that compound.”
The fox nodded and deployed his rifle.

Eric jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the stairs. “Let’s move out!”

They left the building and began to move toward the objective through the narrow alleys. Sheppard got Team Two to fall in behind One. They drew closer. The coyote’s predator instincts began to kick in as they closed, his heart rate increased. At ten meters, Sheppard held up a fist, and the Marines stopped. The insurgents would be just around the corner.
“Weapons tight,” he breathed, unsheathing his K-bar. “I’m going for a quiet one.”

Corporal Hall drew up alongside him, scowling. She mouthed “You reckless sonofabitch.”

The coyote only grinned and began to creep forward.

He peeked around the corner. A tiger and a cheetah stood leaning against the wall, smoking, blissfully unaware of the impending danger. Their rifles were slung. Probably safed. Big mistake.

Sheppard took a deep breath and stepped out from cover. The insurgents froze, looks of surprise on their faces. they were reaching for their weapons when the Marine closed the distance. There was a glint of steel. The cheetah gurgled and fell, blood spurting from his neck. The cigarette dropped out of his mouth and set him alight. He tried to scream, but all that came was a choked gasp as he writhed in silent agony. The tiger fumbled with his AK’s safety. Without hesitating, the coyote spun and lunged. The combat knife sank into the insurgent’s chest. His AK-47 clattered to the ground. For a moment both stood, hunter and hunted, predator and prey, each staring the other down. Then the tiger’s gaze lost its focus, his eyes dimmed and his body went limp. Sheppard wrenched the knife from the corpse, letting it crumple to the ground. The blade was stained a deep red. Sheppard grimaced and wiped it on the tiger’s shirt. The SSgt. sheathed the blade, unslung his rifle and removed the safety.
“On me!” Charlie squad rushed out into the open and immediately set up a three-sixty. Hall saw the burning corpse and shot a disapproving glare at the coyote. He shrugged.

“Let’s move in.”

The compound looked empty. The Marines kept their weapons trained on the windows and doorways of the nearby dwellings. Long shadows cast by the rising sun shrouded half the square in darkness; Sheppard scanned carefully for signs of movement. Two trucks and stacks of wooden crates stood against one wall. Miscellaneous firearms were scattered around.

“Objective spotted.”

He wondered suddenly why the military hadn’t simply called in an airstrike.

The SSgt shrugged. Well, ours is not to reason why…

“Get me a couple blocks of C-4.”

“Yes, sir!”

Sheppard took the high-explosive charges, and used the adhesive to attach one at each end of the stack of crates.
“Get clear, Marines! Fall back!”

The squad retreated out of the compound. The coyote left last of all, then detonated the charges.

A loud crack shattered the silence, followed by a series of rapid-fire thumps as the munitions ignited. A window to the right shattered and the wall opposite became peppered with holes.

It would have been too risky to enter the compound through the same route as before; loose rounds would still be cooking off in the fire.

Sheppard kicked in what was left of the ground-level window and clambered through, closely followed by Charlie Squad. The room was completely wrecked. Shards of glass carpeted the floor, and the furniture that had been near the windows was splintered. The Marines waited till the sound had died down before crossing the floor and exiting through the doorway.

The square was a mess. All the ground level windows and most of the ones on the upper levels of buildings facing the blast had been shattered. The trucks had been blown halfway across the compound and were now no more than hulks of twisted, blackened metal. The dwelling the cache had been set up against no longer existed, a deep crater in it’s place. Sheppard suspected that it had been used to store more of the munitions. Which explains why there was no airstrike, he thought. God, I hate being in the dark.

The radio hissed again.
“Good work, Charlie Squad. We heard that one all the way out here. Alpha, Echo and Zulu are moving to the extraction point. Alpha lead out.”

Sheppard switched to the command frequency.

“Command, this is Charlie lead. Primary objectives completed, requesting extraction.”

“Acknowledged, Charlie. Blackhawks are inbound, ETA five minutes, out.”

A new voice came in over the earpiece. “This is UAV command. Drone Falcon two-niner is in the air. Be advised, Charlie. I see a large number of enemy infantry units converging on your position from the south and west.”

The SSgt. shrugged. He’d expected as much.
“Squad, you heard the bird! Use those trucks for cover, move!”

As the Marines moved into position, Sheppard concealed himself behind a dumpster and waited.

Soon a guttural shout in Arabic echoed between the buildings.
Hall glanced inquiringly at him from across the square. Her rifle was out and ready. She seemed surprisingly calm in the face of the coming storm. Sheppard felt embarrassed at how tense he himself was. He realized that she was waiting for a translation.
“He said ‘The American infidels are in the compound. Do not let them escape.’”

She grinned at him, and he grinned back. Just another day in paradise.

The earpiece buzzed.
“Rifle three-one reporting multiple contacts.”
The coyote adjusted the microphone. “Hold your fire, I repeat, do not engage. Wait for my mark.”

The first insurgent entered the square at a run. Sheppard waited for more to appear. He fired a burst into the tango’s chest and watched him go down. Hall cut down the next one and Zuluaga ripped three more apart with a hail of SAW rounds. The rest of the enemy smartened up and scrambled for cover. The Marines hid as they returned fire. Soon the square echoed with the clatter of automatic weapons. The air was filled with tracers zipping back and forth.
Sheppard leaned out to take a shot and felt a round slam into his chest. The armor stopped the bullet and absorbed most of the impact, but there was still enough force to knock the breath out of the Marine and leave a nasty bruise. Samuels brought his shotgun to bear and blew away the servicefur’s assailant. The coyote hid again and tried to catch his breath as 7.62s pinged off the dumpster.

Someone shouted “Frag out!” and two seconds later, a trio of tangos got shredded in the explosion. And yet for each one they downed, another seemed to take his place. Sheppard turned on his microphone and barked “Grayson! Reach out and touch someone!”

A jackal wielding a Czech 58 screamed in surprise and pain as his arm was blown off. A second later, the Barrett’s sharp report echoed between the buildings. The insurgent howled epitaphs in Arabic until Hall shot him in the face.

Several more hostiles ate .50 cal before the rest realized where the fire was coming from and moved to find better cover. The radio hissed.
“Rifle Three-One here. I see more Marines. Looks like A, E and Z got here alright. Permission to join them?”

“Granted, Private. Get your asses in here, ASAP!”

He turned to Zuluaga. “I’m going to flank! Give me some covering fire!”

“Sir!”
Sheppard burst from hiding and sprinted for a wrecked car. A towelhead tried to block him and was rewarded by a 5.56 headache. An RPG whistled past the coyote as he kicked the corpse out of the way; he ran even faster and ducked behind the vehicle.

The Marine took careful aim and squeezed off several short bursts. The confused Jihadists looked around wildly as some of their number took hits and went down, trying to determine the source of the incoming fire. A lemur panicked and went rock-and-roll on his rifle, killing two of his fellows and wounding a third. Sheppard adjusted his aim, fired. The M4A1 kicked against his shoulder and the primate’s head exploded. Spent brass carpeted the ground at the coyote’s feet. He ducked as a bullet ricocheted off the hood of the car, and yelled over the mission frequency. “All teams! Give me a fucking SITREP, now!”

There was a burst of static.

“We’re here, Staff Sergeant! Check your fire, Charlie! We’re coming in!”

More Marines stumbled into the courtyard, sweeping for targets. They quickly adapted to the situation and proceeded to pin the tangos down.

***

Corporal Lauren Hall watched as Sheppard broke away from the squad and ran to flank the enemy.

Sgt. Samuels tapped her on the shoulder. “Corporal, we’re going to move up and finish the fuckers. Cover us!”

Thomas handed her his M249; she passed the wolf her M16. She moved to the truck’s hood, deployed the gun, and proceeded to hose down the enemy position. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the coyote take down the hiding insurgents one by one. She had to admit it – he might be a total idiot, but he sure as hell had balls.

She looked over her shoulder to check her six – and found herself staring down the barrel of a pistol.

Colt .45, her numb mind registered.

 She moved without thinking, striking out with her paw, batting her assailant’s gun arm aside.

It wasn’t quite fast enough.

The gun flashed.

The round slammed into her side, under her right arm, penetrating half an inch above the armor plates.

She screamed.

***

BLAM.
The sound stood out amidst the gunfire and explosions.

 It echoed across the compound, and all other noise seemed to fade into the background.

Next, Sheppard heard the piercing cry of pain.

He turned and saw Hall fall, blood spraying from her side. A tan-furred coyote with a pistol stood over her.

The noncom pivoted and raised his carbine, which promptly took a direct hit from his flank and spun out of his paws.

Even as the cynical part of his mind formed a vague I told you so, the grey-furred coyote felt himself lose control.

***

Cell Leader Khaled Al-Fahd stared down with contempt at the writhing collie. Were the Americans trying to insult him? He saw the strips that denoted her rank and growled. That a female should be allowed to hold a weapon at all, let alone – he wrinkled his muzzle in disgust – command other males in battle! It was beyond blasphemous… it was an abomination, and he would not stand for it. He would send these infidels a clear message.
The desert coyote raised his pistol – and heard a savage, blood-curdling roar just behind him. A split-second later, a massive weight slammed into his back. His feet left the ground.

***

Staff Sergeant Eric Sheppard sprinted unarmed toward the insurgent.

Time slowed to a crawl; he could hear every heartbeat. Bullets whistled past his head, but he paid them no attention. The tan coyote was the only thing he could see. Eric’s eyes locked onto his target’s back.

He felt rage fill him and let it overflow, savoring it, feeding it, letting it completely possess him.

Sheppard saw the arm holding the gun come up for the final blow.

The Marine loosed a feral roar that echoed through the square and leapt. A tracer zipped by an inch in front of his nose.

His right shoulder connected solidly with the insurgent’s back – the two coyotes soared over Lauren’s prone form and slammed into the tarmac.

The colt spun free, turning in lazy arcs, and disappeared behind the truck.

Sheppard recovered first. He rolled and straddled the hostile, then wrapped his fingers around the insurgent’s neck, trying to strangle him. The cell leader fought back, hitting the servicefur with a hail of blows. The grey coyote forced himself to stay still, and pushed the pain down. He tightened his grip. The tango’s paws clawed madly at the Marine’s vest and his legs thrashed.

The noncom didn’t realize what the desert coyote was trying to do until his own sidearm went off beneath him. Searing pain blasted through his left shoulder.

Eric dove to one side and avoided the next two shots. He ripped the K-bar free of its sheath with his good hand, noting vaguely that the injured arm didn’t seem to be responding. The next bullet grazed his leg. Blood sprayed from the gash, but Sheppard didn’t flinch.

The Marine moved again, closing the distance. He drew the blade back and then drove it down with all his strength.

He savored the feeling of the steel sinking through the soft flesh, the feel of the bastard’s warm blood drenching his fur. The knife was hilted in the insurgent’s throat. The tango gurgled, dropped the pistol and his fingers scrabbled at the handle.

Sheppard scooped up the weapon, rolled to one knee and emptied the entire magazine into the tan coyote’s head.

When the echoes of the last shots faded, he let the gun slip out of his blood-soaked paw and clatter to the ground.

The radio came to life again. “Charlie, this is Blackhawk fleet Alpha-two. Lead callsign Thunder two-five,” said a calm male voice. “We’re thirty seconds out and closing. Sit tight.”

Eric ignored him. He ignored the pain in his shoulder. He didn’t notice that the battle was over. The grey-furred coyote struggled to his feet, breathing hard, and limped straight to where Hall lay, face-down. He turned her over, carefully. She was still conscious. Blood flowed from the wound. Only God knew how much damage the bullet had done.

She squinted, and seemed to suddenly recognize him.

The collie tried to speak. Instead she choked and coughed up blood.

Eric felt like someone had kicked him in the stomach.

He lifted her tenderly, his body shaking as the adrenaline bled off. The ghosts of memories he had tried to suppress rose like snakes to strike him down again. Eric gently pressed a finger to Hall’s trembling lips, speaking softly.

“Shh. It’s okay. We’re getting out of here now.”

His voice shook. He realized he was crying.

“You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be alright…”

She managed a weak grin, and forced words through clenched teeth.
“Don’t… tell me you’re going s… soft on me, Sarge.”

She laughed – and was cut short. A second time, violent coughs racked her body. She convulsed, then went limp as she lost consciousness.
Fear, the black abyss, opened beneath him. He was falling.

The cynic laughed at his weakness and distress, his failure.

His mind vaguely registered that he was shouting.
“God dammit, Lauren! Don’t fucking give up on me! Not now!”

He forced himself back to the present, checked for a pulse. It was there, but weak. She was losing BP fast.

There was nothing he could do. Not for the first time in his life, the grey coyote felt his own helplessness. He was furious at himself for failing to protect her, and for getting attached in the first place. He was furious with the world for its cruelty. He stared at the headless corpse of Hall’s attacker, wishing he could have prolonged the Jihadist’s suffering. The coyote raised his face to the bloody sky and howled in rage and fear, a lone figure framed against the rising sun. And the Blackhawks descended.

*****