Path of Their Own Ch. 01

The Marine flicked his safety lever down to semi-automatic and looked to the Private. "Galen, you got the shotgun. Challenge them."

Nodding, the paratrooper yelled out, "Come out here, slowly. We know you're there, we don't want trouble."

Silence hung in the air for several moments until something rose from the bushes. Taking slow, deliberate steps toward the group until he was lit by the firelight, a black-furred Lycan stopped just on the edge of their camp. The bipedal wolf was easily seven feet tall, barrel-chested with thick arms and clawed hands to make up for his distinctive lack of weapons. In fact, the only thing he wore was a pair of loose, felt shorts that allowed his bushy tail to sway freely.

While he relaxed his body to limit his threatening demeanor, his large, yellow eyes scanned over the pan-racial group before him. That gaze stopping only on the Neko for a brief moment before his attention fell on the one who had called him out.

"Human. Are you... trading wagon?"

His voice was deep, the words slow and paced as though he had to focus on the words he spoke.

Galen shook his head, hesitantly lowering his shotgun. "No, just travelers. On our way to the Marching Hills. Are you from the Herriklin tribe?"

The Lycan nodded. "Yes. You in our part of Atzla. Erstal of Herriklin ask me to find... reason you come. I have reason, now I leave. Travel safe, Human. Necela moon-blessing to you."

With a polite bow of the head, Galen replied, "Same to you."

The Lycan turned and ran off into the woods, and despite his large body made very little noise doing so. Galen looked around at the others, seeing Petra visibly relax at the absence of the walking wolf whereas Felyn already had her weapon put away. Apparently she sensed little enough hostility from him that she was already undoing the latches of her armor.

Flak, however... his knuckles were white on the pistol grip of his AK. The selector lever was in the auto position and his finger was firm over the trigger guard like he was ready to hose their visitor with a stream of lead. Even with the fire crackling in the background, Galen could hear his shaky breathing.

"Sergeant?" he asked.

Felyn turned her attention to him as well, and her eyes focused on his until his grip on his weapon eased off. When the Marine finally began to relax, she said, "You're terrified, Flak."

"Fucking. Hate. Dogs," he growled. "That fucker was huge."

"Are you alright, Flak?" Galen asked again, taking a step in.

The Marine cycled his lungs with a deep breath and set his AK to safe before slinging it over his back. Before anyone could question his mental state again, he pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes from his pocket and extended a hand to Galen while snapping his fingers. The Private pulled his zippo from his pocket and passed it over to watch as he lit his cigarette and sucked in deep.

Breathing out a cloud of smoke, Flak returned the lighter and sat down while staring into the campfire. "Thank fucking God these came in on the Herc. I was going to snap smoking that Redding shit."

"What do you have against dogs?" the Private probed, earning himself a scowl as Flak took another puff.

"Ask me another time, I just fucking hate them."

Everyone shared confused glances but ultimately dropped the issue as the Marine inhaled his smoke right down to the nub. Whatever food they had left was quickly finished, the rabbits' skins stashed away, then their pup-tent and bedrolls set up. At Flak's insistence, a watch was set and with the plan laid out to set out again at dawn, the group settled down for the night. Petra took to a nearby tree, Flak crawled into the tent beside the fire across from Felyn, and Galen set up in the back of the wagon with Celia.

The first few hours of watch for the night were left to that latter couple. Staring up at the starry sky above, they quietly shared stories and secrets between each other. Galen even started expanding his Elf's understanding of English until it came time to wake Flak and Felyn. With their relief stirring and preparing to take over watch, the couple retired to their bed in the back of the wagon, the Tree Elf's smile hinting at what she had in mind.

Using a cleaning kit that he took from the C-130's supplies, Flak passed the first few minutes of his shift going over his AK for rust or any other signs of corrosion. Using the firelight with a very interested Drow watching, he pulled the weapon apart and inspected every nook and cranny and worked to clean anything he found. After applying a thin coat of oil to the moving parts, he put the gun back together and slowly racked the bolt to work the lubricant in.

"You are very strict on a clean weapon," Felyn commented as he then performed a function test to ensure he properly reassembled it. "You mentioned before 'dirty' weapons?"

"Well, these things aren't swords," he muttered in response. "Using a gun puts fouling in the system. Too much fouling and it will stop working. If it doesn't work when you're stuck in a two-way range, your life expectancy gets rather short."

"So you ensure we keep these clean," she said, turning her M16 over in her hands.

"Especially those fucking things," he said, eyes fixed on her rifle. "That one you have has to be a new one with its chrome chamber. They didn't have that when I first carried one, so when we went out on a few patrols and put a few thousand rounds out the spout, the rifle would be so gummed up that the bolt would seize up out of battery with a ruptured case head."

Not fully understanding his meaning, she looked to the rifle and pulled the charging handle back to retract the chrome bolt and look at its chamber. "You said these are new to your army. That the other soldiers weren't told to clean them. Why do you?"

"Because I learned what happens when you don't. The hard way," he grumbled in a low voice as his face grew distant. "I heard that someone way up the chain fucked up, so we're not getting the properly made ammunition. What we are getting is this filthy shit that shoots way too hot, breaks guns, and gets good men killed."

The anger coming off of him was boiling hot enough to put Felyn on edge. With narrowed eyes she tried to bleed it off, replace it with calmer, happier feelings. Anything to settle the death-grip he had on his weapon.

"And so I took it upon myself to learn how to properly clean and maintain an M16," he muttered, his voice much softer as her Empathic pressure paid off. "When I did, I began showing my men how to do the same. Now I'm teaching you and Petra. If they're treated right, we'll run out of ammo long before we run into any issues with the rifles. If not... well let's just say that it makes for a terrible club."

A harsh scowl drew down on the Drow's face. In such an advanced society, how can something as simple as a bullet prove so difficult? Flak spoke of devices that can send words across the world so communication was no excuse. Could their chain-of-command just be so dense that they refused to accept the message that something was wrong? Even some of the most uncaring Matrons of her people ensured her soldiers were properly outfitted, lest another come along and pillage her holdings for all their worth.

Lifting the weapon into her shoulder and aiming it off into the woods, she asked, "When will we begin shooting them?"

"When I feel you are ready, but before we get near Ricton," Flak explained, taking notice of how well she handled the weapon now that she wasn't covered in armor. "We'll work on your drills and marksmanship principles and once you have them down, we'll load up a few magazines and do some shooting."

Setting the rifle aside, the Drow's heart suddenly picked up with a rush of raw emotions slamming into her. With a tingling nether region, her eyes darted over to the covered wagon where Celia and Galen were supposed to be sleeping. An infuriating heat built up in her leather pants to make her cheeks take on a purple tint as she looked back toward the fire. Fortunately, Flak didn't seem to notice the movement or how uncomfortable she suddenly became.

It was definitely a moment she did not appreciate being Empathic.

Damn you, Celia, for fucking Him while I'm stuck on watch.

"You okay?" Flak asked, Felyn's gaze darting to him as her fidgeting thighs pressed together.

"Ah-hem, yes," she stammered. "Some- uhh... nearby woodland creatures are going through... spring mating. And my Empathy is telling me about it. In detail."

His eyes went wide while that steamy desire fed to her turned into a hot flush of embarrassment. Only a moment later, it was picking up again and even worse than before. The damned Tree Elf and her Human had no shame.

"So it's not limited to people," Flak inferred. "Well if you have to go to bush and rub one out, don't let me stop you."

The Drow tilted her head at him, trying to understand his meaning until it clicked a moment later. Her brow raised, her lips curled up into a sultry grin. But seeing her look had him frowning in response.

"What?"

"Are you sure you want me to work it out on my own, or would you prefer to help?" she offered, opening up with her Empathy to send him a sample of what she was feeling. What she received in return was a cold shoulder as his attention turned back to the woods.

"No offense, Felyn, but I'm not interested. If you were a few inches taller, put on about twenty pounds, and lost the pointy ears, then I'd see. As for now, I'm not telling you to go fuck yourself, but if you need to, there's privacy over yonder."

The Drow blinked in shock. She flat out offered herself and he rejected her. A surface male, pressured by her Empathy no less, rejected her.

That isn't supposed to happen! Jrastra swore that doesn't happen!

Surfaces males, especially Humans, were supposed to jump at the first sign of spreading legs, yet here was Flak more interested in keeping watch than getting his prick wet. His comments about how her appearance would have to change to his preferences before he even considered rankled as well. Her body was as it had always been, and she hadn't even considered his skin-color, stubby ears, or shaggy hair!

"No offense, Flak," she echoed. "I suppose just knowing a 'dog' was around tonight would give a man such as you no end of distraction. I shall take care of myself."

He scowled but opted not to lob another insult back. "You do that, blood-eyes."

Standing up and striding off to the bush to work out the tension Celia and Galen put into her body, Felyn had to put some thought into the tactics the first Commandants taught her as well. They hadn't worked; her first attempt, and they hadn't worked.

If this male rejected her out in the middle of nowhere with no one else around to judge, how effective would she be in a city? Or in a situation where it mattered?

Or was this Earth man just a special case?

.....................

The trip across the Marching Hills proved just as uneventful as the group's trip through Atzla. Once they went far enough south in the forest, the trees started to thin out in both size and numbers. With the increased clearings, they found that the hills in the terrain got taller and more spread out. There were noticeably fewer game animals that crossed their path and more burrows.

By the second night, the Atzla forest was a distant wall of trees several foothills back. And it was then that they learned their first lesson regarding the nightly temperatures of the land between a vast forest and a mountain range. The winds that came through when the moon was high chilled all save Felyn right down to the bone. The canvas covering the wagon didn't secure well enough to be wind-proof and both Celia and Petra shivered the worst as neither had much in the way of clothes to begin with.

Putting up the pup-tent for the Elf and Neko to hide in, Galen summoned his enchanted cuirass gifted by the Drow and put it on under his tunic. The tanneran plating the inside sensed his drop in body temperature and heated up accordingly as he rolled up in a quilt. Using blankets gifted to them by the Willhers, Flak managed to keep himself from freezing in the night even if just barely. Felyn pulled her cloak in and threw a blanket over herself to sleep through the winds until sun rise. The morning did not prove much better.

The vicious winds carried on right through midday, forcing the Neko and Tree Elf to stay covered up in the back of the wagon with Galen driving up front alone. Despite the cold, Flak didn't give up teaching the three women everything he could about their weapons.

Using Petra or Galen to translate for Celia as needed, he got the women practicing good habits regarding marksmanship with both their rifles and their side arms. Or in Celia's case, just her carbine. The language barrier she encountered at times proved a minor inconvenience but didn't stop her from taking Flak's physical cues. He made plenty of visual demonstrations with his hands when he taught, and these proved a great help in explaining what his words could not.

Over the course of the trip, his proficiency in teaching became clearer to his students. His answers to questions were always clear and concise, and despite what Petra had seen in battle, he actually had quite the well of patience to draw from. He even continued his instruction when it clouded over on the third day and threatened rain.

That afternoon, like an act of God or a blessing from Necela or Calia, the clouds parted and the winds settled. A comfortable heat rose up from the grassy hills to relieve the chill that kept the group wrapped up in cloaks and blankets. With what they guessed to be a day's travel left on their overgrown road, the weather looked to be intending to make this last leg a pleasant one.

Upon a hill top looking down into a valley roughly two hundred yards long, Flak had Galen stop the wagon. As soon as he climbed off the back, he ordered, "Okay, all ladies kit up and hop off."

For three days he had been teaching shooting principles and techniques, now it was time to give them real trigger time. For the time being, the conditions were perfect.

He had Galen summon a trio of ammo cans and emptied them out before pacing out roughly fifty meters to set them up. When he returned and laid out some of their blankets to make an improvised firing line, Petra and Felyn were given a few boxes of ammo to load three of their twenty-round magazines. Separate from them, Galen helped Celia load up two of the thirty-round magazines that came with her carbine.

It was clear the Tree Elf was quite nervous about her weapon. Despite its small size and wood furniture, her hands were clammy and her face was tense and timid. Handling the empty carbine was one thing but now that the missing component to make it work was nearby, she was nearly shaking.

Flak watched her with his jaw set. And a nervous shooter makes for a nervous instructor.

Fortunately, every step of the way the Private was beside her and talking her through her worries. Even going as far as showing her the difference in cartridge between what her M2 shot, and what his M14 unleashed. That physical demonstration seemed to visibly settle her but she still lacked confidence in her handling.

Gonna have to get over that, dewshine.

"Petra, Felyn, Celia, in prone shooting position. Rifles right along here." He tapped the edge of the blankets with the toe of his boot.

As Celia mimicked her stronger female counterparts, Galen went into the prone beside her and spoke calming words in her language to remind her of everything she'd been taught. Not ideal but probably necessary here. Hopefully Galen could take the training wheels off in one of the later lessons.

"Shooters ready?" Flak called, standing behind Petra and Felyn.

Receiving three "ready" calls in response, he ordered, "With your first magazine, load."

He listened to the series of clicks of live rounds going into the weapons. By sheer instinct he slowed his breathing to calm the slight increase in his heart rate. First time on a range with new shooters was always an uneasy affair.

"Targets to your front, fifty meters." All three of them racked their weapons and took aim at the empty ammo cans he had set up. "Five rounds, five rounds only. Fire when ready."

He watched and waited for the whole of three seconds. The first pop came from Celia to splash up a handful of dirt two feet behind her target. Next shot came from Felyn to clip the top edge of her can with a third, quieter shot coming from Petra's suppressed rifle shortly after. Despite the lack of muzzle blast, the super-sonic crack of the bullet leaving the weapon still made the Neko flinch. Her shot coming up short to splash her target with dirt.

Not bad results but each of them still had four more to go.

The first one to get a solid hit was Petra on her third attempt, then Felyn on her fourth. Then both of them scored again on each of their successive shots. It was an impressive result for their first time shooting, but something seemed different about the report from the Drow's rifle. The blinding, deafening blast that usually came from the typical ball ammo wasn't there. The rifle seemed quieter, the recoil considerably less than the ammo he used in Vietnam.

This was something he had to investigate after they were done. When the two fighters had fired a fifth round, they set their weapons on safe and laid them on the blanket with the muzzle facing down range. And just as Flak expected them to, both of them started rubbing their ears. He decided then he would have to try and rig up some sort of protection for them at some point if they decided to send some hate down range with an M60.

Looking to Celia, he waited as she lined up her fifth and final round. With each of her previous four bullets hitting either too high and to the right, or too low and to the left, he didn't have high hopes for her. When her rifle bucked with one final pop she was zero for five.

"She's not controlling her breathing and she's jerking the trigger, Galen," Flak said as she pressed her carbine's safety on and set it down with her ears drooping in defeat.

"It's alright, you're still new to this," the Private whispered to her. "Remember, use a long, gentle squeeze. Don't pull, squeeze. Relax and take your time."

Not understanding what Galen was saying, Flak turned his attention down range and ordered, "Felyn, Petra, adopt a kneeling position, Celia stay prone until you can hit what you're aiming at."

The Neko and Drow came up on one knee while keeping their weapons pointed toward their targets. This early sign of a good habit made Flak visibly relax as the two women listened for his next instruction. On his direction they took aim and fired five more rounds from the kneeling position and then ten from the standing. Their accuracy degraded with each increasingly unstable stance but they still hit their targets at least twice and their comfort with the weapons quickly started to show.

So far, so good, Flak thought.

It was her seventh shot when Celia finally scored a direct hit, and the eighth one that followed brought the same result. Settling into a groove of steady breathing she managed to get another two hits in quick succession. The satisfying thok of her bullet meeting its mark brought a grin to her face.

"I'm hitting it!" she said excitedly.

"You are, try kneeling," Galen said, helping her up and getting her into the next position. Two misses, a hit, a miss, and then a hit. Finally standing her up, Galen merely took a step back and let her go through the last half of her magazine on her own. By her twenty-sixth shot, she stopped missing.

When her carbine finally went click, she grabbed the charging handle and pulled the bolt back to find the magazine was empty. Remembering Flak's instructions, she set the rifle to safe and lowered the muzzle to point at the ground in front of her before looking around at the group.