The Rask Rebellion

"Cool and dry is more my thing," he replied, "this place is gonna be swamp ass central."

"Swamp ass?" she asked curiously.

"Trust me, you don't want to know. So, how did you end up assigned as a Timberwolf driver?" he continued. "I haven't seen many Valbarans serving alongside the UNN."

"We haven't been in the Coalition for very long," she said, gesturing with her three-fingered hands. The panels on her wrists and pigtails had turned a shade of lime now, maybe they really were like a mood ring. "When contact was made, the whole Galaxy opened up to us, and we wanted to see it. My flock served as pilots for cargo shuttles back on the homeworld, but there were no openings for that position, the humans didn't need Valbarans to fly their ships. They wanted Commandos to integrate into their mixed units, and engineers to service vehicles. I suppose being a driver is a lot like being a pilot, in many ways."

"Your flock is your social group, right?" he asked. "Is that like a pack?"

"In some ways, yes. In a Borealan pack, there is a leader, an Alpha who commands the rest. Not so in a Valbaran flock. Each member is part of the whole, all decisions are made through consensus. It has been difficult to adapt to a hierarchy where one person must be relied upon to make decisions for the group."

"You must have commanding officers, though," Ben added. "I can't imagine how a military would function without them."

"Yes, but we treat flocks as you treat individuals," she explained. "Our commander is a flock of several who all carry the same authority, and they reach consensus together."

"It must be difficult being separated from your flock, then," Ben added. "Sounds like a close relationship."

"It's...an adjustment," she admitted. "In integration training, I learned to trust that humans can make informed decisions on their own and that we should expect to be separated in many cases. Human vehicles are not designed to be crewed by so many, after all. We must treat our comrades as a kind of surrogate flock until we are reunited."

"Sounds like you got a handle on it, then. If it's any consolation, part of being a good leader is taking the input of your crew into consideration. I won't hesitate to ask your opinion if I think it's valuable."

She nodded her appreciation, peering out at the vehicles beyond. They watched a nearby tank crew as they mounted up, climbing up the sloping hull armor of their Kodiak. They were imposing vehicles, nine meters long, and up to seventy tons depending on their configuration. The front armor and the turret were heavily sloped to increase the chance of bouncing enemy shells, the tile-like ceramic plating designed primarily to diffuse heat from Betelgeusian plasma weapons. Ben could make out the smoke launchers, and the modules of its active protection system.

The main gun was a massive, slightly flattened tube, the housing covering up an electromagnetic railgun. The round muzzle device on the end of the barrel wasn't a brake, as a railgun had no propellant gases to redirect, but rather a device used to prevent the air around it from heating up to the point that it created a plasma discharge. Without one, the effect wasn't unlike an arc flash. It could potentially damage equipment or burn personnel in the vicinity.

There was a blister on top of the turret that housed a smaller caliber railgun, along with a mortar launcher, Ben watching as the round sensor array on top swiveled. Those weapons could be controlled remotely by the commander to supplement the main gun, like a second, smaller turret on top of the first. It wasn't dissimilar from the main turret on one of the IFVs.

The Kodiaks had hardpoints on either side of the turret that could fit more weapons and modules, but the ones on this vehicle were currently empty, the metallic socket standing out against its desert camouflage. Radar systems, supplemental guns, missile launchers. They had a variety of options.

"So, why didn't our vehicle have a crew?" Mizi asked.

"How do you mean?" Ben replied, turning to glance at her.

"Back on the assault carrier, whenever I overheard people talking about their vehicles, they treated them as a second home. Each one had its own quirks, a nickname. The people who crewed them were very close, kind of like a flock, in a way. Yet our crew is only just being assembled."

"I didn't ask," Ben replied with a shrug. "Golf-six could be brand new, fresh out of the factory, or it could have been recovered after its previous crew was lost. That's not uncommon, especially when fighting Bugs. They tend to go for the crew and leave the steel intact."

"Let us hope that it's the former," Mizi muttered, the thought seeming to disturb her.

"Where the hell is that gunner?" Ben grumbled. He checked the holographic display on his wrist, but he hadn't received any messages or updates. "Dude is probably fresh out of boot and doesn't even know where he's supposed to be. I swear, if they sent us some green-"

A dark figure appeared seemingly from nowhere, emerging from behind their vehicle and nearly making Ben jump out of his skin. Mizi was equally alarmed by their sudden arrival, the panels on her suit flashing yellow.

The stranger was taller than a human, a hair under eight feet, suggesting that they were Borealan. Ben couldn't make out their features, their entire body was wrapped in a long cloak that resembled a ghillie suit, the mesh-like material woven with bits of green fabric to give the impression that it was covered in foliage. There was a hood over their head, the harsh sunlight casting their face into deep shadow. Across their chest was a leather strap, which was attached to a holster for some kind of weapon that was slung over their back. Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was some manner of primitive crossbow, its stock fashioned from carved wood.

Ben immediately felt his stomach tie itself into a knot. He wasn't especially fond of Borealans, they were a royal pain in the ass to work with, and he didn't want to run the risk of butting heads with one in a potentially lethal situation.

"Is this vehicle number six, of Golf company?" the newcomer asked. Her voice was distinctly female, low and husky, scarcely a whisper when compared to the racket created by the running engines all around them. Her accent was strange, she trilled her Rs in a way that reminded him of Russian, or perhaps a purring cat.

"This is Golf-six," Ben replied, rising to his feet and brushing the sand off his suit. "Are you the gunner we've been waiting for?"

He looked her up and down, examining her strange getup. She didn't look like a qualified gunner, she looked like a walking hedge. Mizi's violet eyes darted between the two of them as though she couldn't decide whether to follow suit or stay where she was.

The Borealan reached up and pulled back her hood, shaking out her dark, cropped hair. She was unlike any Borealan that he had ever seen before. Their faces were usually clear of fur, but hers was coated in a fine, velvety layer that seemed to shine as though wet. It was jet black in color, matching her full lips and her feline nose, so thin that it might have been mistaken for skin. He couldn't see her eyes, they were hidden behind a pair of dark, tinted goggles.

"I am Lozka, leader of the Araxie guard. My people have given me the title of Silent Huntress. Your Alpha has assigned me to your pack."

"Lozka," Ben mused, the strange name rolling off his tongue. "I'm Sergeant Rhodes, the vehicle's commander, and this is PFC Mizi. She's our driver."

"Hello," Mizi chirped, practically staring at the alien. The Borealan was near twice her height and probably five or six times her weight.

"So...you're our gunner?" Ben asked, seeing no need to mask his skepticism. She looked like she had been plucked straight out of the jungle, she wasn't even wearing a uniform. "Have you ever operated a Timberwolf's thirty-mil before?"

"You are scouts, are you not?" she asked. It seemed that she was ignoring his question. What was her rank? Had she even completed her integration training?

"That's right," he replied, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Then this is where my Patriarch has deemed me to be of most use. I have met the Rask in combat many times, and I have slain my share. I know how best to track them, how to confuse and outmaneuver them."

"That sounds...useful," Ben muttered. "You are a gunner, though, right? Like, we need someone who can, you know, actually shoot the gun."

"My bolts always strike true," she replied, "I am the most accomplished marksman in the Araxie territory."

"That sounds good," Mizi said, giving Ben a shrug. She was optimistic, at least.

"Yeah," he replied, unconvinced. "Mizi, why don't you give the Silent Huntress a tour of the vehicle while I give the LT a call?"

"Okay!" she replied cheerfully, the towering feline following behind her as she bobbed along like an oversized pigeon. She led her around to the rear of the six-wheeled truck, opening up the troop ramp, Lozka crouching to peer inside. Technically, a Borealan could fit inside a Timberwolf, but it was fortunate that she seemed to have a lighter build than some of the other cats that he'd come across. The thing was the size of a damned RV to Mizi, but Lozka had to duck to avoid hitting her head. Ben waited until they were out of earshot, then placed his call.

"Lieutenant? This is Sergeant Rhodes again, Golf-six."

The LT's voice came through on the other end, the ad-hoc network lowering the bitrate a little to make it crackle and hiss.

"Rhodes," he began, probably taking a moment to look him up. "Ah, yes. Is this about your gunner again?"

"Sort of, Sir. Our gunner just arrived. I was calling to inquire as to whether she actually has any training? It's just that, well, she's dressed like a mascot for a brand of canned vegetables. I was wondering if there had been some kind of mixup?"

"There's no mixup, Sergeant," the Lieutenant replied tersely. "Both the Araxie and Elysian territories are supporting us in our operation against the Rask. Patriarch Bozka has sent us what he claims is his most qualified scout, and the best shot in his territory. She has dozens of confirmed kills, and she knows the enemy better than any of us."

"But...she brought a crossbow, Sir."

"She'll be an asset, so I don't want to hear any more complaints. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, Sir," Ben sighed as the LT closed the connection. It was looking like he was going to be stuck with the alien. Maybe he could have Mizi give her a crash course. The little creature seemed to have committed the manual to memory.

He walked over to the troop ramp of the Timberwolf, peering inside. The bay where the crew were expected to live and work for the majority of their deployment was scarcely larger than the kitchen in his first apartment. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all made from exposed metal that was covered in various electronics and mechanical systems. There were a few shelves that held supplies and equipment, contained behind a fabric mesh to prevent them from falling out during travel. The crew slept on a trio of padded beds, two of which were raised flush against the walls. They could also be used as seating in the event that the scout vehicle was on a rescue mission, or had to carry passengers. The third bed was little more than a thin mattress that was currently strapped to the hull to his right with another fabric mesh. There was a bustle rack on the exterior of the vehicle, too, where extra supplies could be mounted without taking up more of the already limited space.

There were no windows or viewports in the rear. It was like a steel coffin, the two lighting strips that ran along the ceiling providing illumination. The only ways in and out were the troop bay at the rear, and the two hatches. At the far end of the bay was a small port that led to the cab. Beyond it was a trio of reclining chairs, the driver's seat situated a little further forward than the two that flanked it. They were all boxed in by consoles and control banks, leaving scarcely enough room for the crew to squeeze in.

The leftmost was the gunner's seat. It had a joystick for controlling the remote turret, computer readouts, and other systems related to weapons. The cab hatch was also situated directly above it, and the chair could be raised to give the occupant a view outside. The rightmost was where Ben would be sitting. The commander's chair was surrounded by computer monitors and sensor equipment, as he would be operating much of the Timberwolf's electronics suite. Ground-penetrating radar to scan for Bug tunnels, surveillance drones, and other systems.

Mizi and Lozka were in the troop bay, the Valbaran showing the furry alien where the MRE packets were stashed. The Timberwolf was downright spacious by Mizi's standards, she had to stand on one of the extended beds to reach the shelves, while Lozka had to crouch to fit inside. She didn't look very impressed with her new accommodations.

"We are to live in this vehicle for the duration of our mission?" she asked, examining her surroundings with a disapproving expression. On top of the bay being a little too small for her, the strange ghillie suit that she wore kept snagging on everything, meaning that she constantly had to stop to untangle herself.

"How else did you think we were gonna cross a desert?" he scoffed. "You should probably stow your gear, by the way. Won't be long now until the Lieutenant gives his mission briefing, and I expect you both to attend. Preferably without a crossbow."

"As you wish, Alpha," Lozka replied. He was surprised to hear her refer to him in that way. As reluctant as she sounded, he knew that to be named the leader of a Borealan pack was no small thing. The aliens usually fought tooth and nail for the position. Literally.

"Uh...Alpha?" he asked. "Don't I usually have to kick someone's ass before you'll call me that?"

"We Araxie defer to those of greater skill and accomplishment," she explained as she began to take off her crossbow. She stowed it on a gun rack that was mounted on the wall, along with a quiver of sharp bolts. "We are not like our brutish cousins. The Araxie do not savage one another to decide who leads the pack."

"Oh, like a meritocracy?" he wondered. "Glad to know you won't try to claw my face off if I look at you funny."

"The title of commander grants you seniority, does it not?" she continued as she began to remove her cloak.

"Yeah, that's how our command structure works," he replied, watching her shrug off the strange garment. Beneath it, she wore a sparse outfit made from brown leather, sewn together in a way that made it look very makeshift. Her bust was contained within a simple leather sling, and over that, she was wearing what looked like a primitive chest rig. There were small satchels and pouches sewn onto it, along with holsters for small vials of liquid, and what must be a waterskin in lieu of a modern canteen. It looked like she intended to carry everything that she might need on her person.

Her shorts were so tight that she might well have been sewn into them, the seams straining against her muscular thighs and rump. The belt that secured them about her waist rode low on her wide hips, and it too was laden with holsters and pouches, their weight making it sag. There was an especially large knife on her hip that drew his eye. It was the size of a shortsword from a human's perspective.

As he had suspected, her entire body was covered in silky, black fur from the tips of her round ears to her paw-like feet. It was so slick that it almost made her look wet, as though she had just climbed out of a swimming pool, its coal-black surface reflecting the lighting strips above. Her thin coat clung to her figure such that he could make out every contour of her body, even individual veins. It reminded him of a racehorse, its hide wet with sweat after a steeplechase. The twin rows of chiseled muscles on her exposed midriff shifted beneath her fur as she moved, flowing like water, the dimples on her thighs clearly visible. Lozka's build was much lighter than what he was used to seeing on a Borealan. Most had the figures of bodybuilders, while hers was closer to that of a gymnast, or perhaps a swimmer.

As she turned to hang her cloak over her crossbow, he got a view of her rear. Her muscles cut a long channel down her spine, her pert cheeks filling out her shorts. There was a vent just below her belt that let her long tail poke through, the appendage waving back and forth. Mizi seemed entranced by it, reaching out to touch it with her gloved hand, Ben shaking his head at her silently. Grabbing a Borealan's tail was a good way to lose your head, if they were of the aggressive variety or not. Clearly, Valbarans had a different concept of personal space than humans.

"Then, you have been deemed most fit to command this vehicle and its crew?" Lozka continued, Ben realizing that he was staring.

"I guess," he continued, averting his gaze as she turned to face him again. "That's probably not how I'd word it."

"Then you are my Alpha. I may be the most accomplished soldier in my territory, but I know nothing of these vehicles. I have, however, tracked Rask into the deserts beyond the jungle band before. I know that my skills can be of use."

"Just do me a favor and don't call me Alpha again," Ben replied. "Commander or Sergeant Rhodes will be fine." He stepped out of view of the alien, then returned a moment later, ducking to look inside the bay again. "Seriously, it weirds me out..."

"As you wish, Commander," she replied.

"We've got like five minutes until the briefing," he added, "I'll come fetch you when it's time."

***

The Lieutenant stood on a collapsible chair in front of the crowd of people, ensuring that everyone could see him. Almost the entire company was attending, and as the commander of that company, it was his job to relay their orders from Fleetcom. The commanders of the other seven companies would be doing the same thing right about now. Beside him was a metal box about the size and shape of a beer cooler, and after he brandished a remote, it projected a holographic image into the air that was large enough for everyone to make out clearly. It was an aerial map of the planet with Elysia on the right, and Rask on the left. Between them was the Araxie territory, further to the North, as well as a few other smaller oases.

Ben was in the midst of the crowd with Lozka at his side, the alien a head taller than everyone around her. He felt someone tug at the leg of his suit, looking down to see that Mizi was trying to get his attention.

"I can't see!" she complained.

"What do you want me to do about it, find you a box to stand on?" he replied with a shrug.

"But...but I must know the plan!" She was practically dancing on the spot, wringing her hands in agitations as she peered up at him expectantly. "Let me climb you."

"Climb me?" he repeated, a Marine who was standing behind them snorting into his helmet as he watched the scene unfold.

Without waiting for his permission, the Valbaran took a tighter grip on his pants, using the leverage to lift herself. She gripped his belt, her surprisingly powerful tail wrapping around his waist as she scaled him like a monkey climbing a tree. Before he could fight her off, she had crouched with her boots on his shoulders, her hands resting on his helmet as she watched the presentation. As light as she was, it was still uncomfortable, she weighed about as much as a rucksack full of gear. He considered lifting her off, but she sure seemed intent on seeing the briefing.

"Many of you already know why we're here," the Lieutenant began, his voice carrying through the empty desert that surrounded them. "But the rapid nature our of deployment didn't leave us any time for a full briefing. The Okinawa was called in on short notice because we happened to be in the area, so this is our mess now. This morning, at oh-nine-hundred hours, an ASAT weapon deployed by the Rask Matriarchy shot down two vessels in Borealan orbit. One was Elysian, and the other was UNN. Both ships were lost with all hands. There was no warning, no declaration of war prior to the attack, and there has been no further contact with the Rask since their initial transmission."