5 years after the Armistice

POV: Sjulzulp, Free Znosian Marines (Rank: Seven Whiskers)

"Well, well, well… look who we've got here!" the familiar-looking predator belted out as he practically skipped down the shuttle ramp. "Six Whiskers One-Ear! Slurp!"

Sjulzulp smiled. "Actually, it's seven whiskers now, Frumers."

"You and your silly whiskers! Of all the ridiculous things you guys kept from the Dominion…"

"This makes the most sense of all!"

"Bah! And look! His ear grew back some!" Frumers said, excitedly holding up Sjulzulp's regrown ear with a paw to show his squad.

The predators fed him some drug that did that while he was training with them. It didn't work immediately, but he noticed the regeneration a few weeks after he returned to the front. It itched a lot at first, but the sinew grew back eventually. The fur… there were still some patches, just enough to remind himself of the close shave he had with death.

"Ow!" Sjulzulp yelped as Frumers handled his ears not-so-gently. "Careful! The nerves grew back too!"

"Right, sorry Slurp," Frumers apologized with a grin as he released him.

Sjulzulp nodded and pointed at them for his people. Many of them were new. "Guys, this is Lemming Squad. They were the instructors who trained our officers when we went there for exercises a couple of years ago."

His people jabbered and pointed at the four bigger Malgeir in their shiny armor, who began waving enthusiastically at the gathering crowd.

"What are they doing here?" someone in the crowd shouted in question.

"Careful, or they'll eat you for lunch!" another shouted back, snickering.

"I'm not scared! I've seen sharper claws!"

"Oh yeah? What about these teeth?" Spommu grinned and bared at her sharp fangs at his younger recruits. Not to be outdone, they reflected the gesture good-naturedly, showing her their blunt teeth as they howled in laughter.

Sjulzulp grinned at her. "Now you know why they call us Predator Platoon."

"Rawr. Predator Platoon, huh?"

"Yeah. That's what they say."

They'd intercepted some enemy communications at the Battle of Britvik-3. The radio recordings of enemy Skyclaw pilots and orbital fire control panicking as they spread rumors about fighting predators down at the spaceport got Sjulzulp's recon unit a lot of propaganda mileage… and free carrot juice on the house anywhere in Free Znosian territory. It was one thing to defeat an enemy in battle, and quite another to thrash them so hard they thought they were fighting literal aliens all along.

Sjulzulp waved at his people to settle down as the Lemming gathered up. He frowned slightly. "Hm… Wait a second. What are you guys doing here?"

"What did they tell you?" Baedarsust asked.

"I just received unofficial word on the radio that we had some visitors, and we're supposed to work with you on something. But they didn't say much more than that in the message. What is it, actually?"

Baedarsust grinned at Sjulzulp. "Super special, top-secret mission."

"Top-secret?"

The Malgeir squad leader winked. "Yeah, if I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"Okay, that's a hard bargain, but I will take it. What is the secret?"

"Oh, Slurp, never change… Alright, gather your troops and pay attention. It's very important that you all remember your parts."

"High Pack Leader… do your people know that you are here?" Sjulzulp asked.

"Some of them," Baedarsust replied noncommittally.

"Some?"

"Like… a few in our government and Navy."

"How many?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Slurp."

Sjulzulp was insistent. "Don't redirect. How many?"

"About… five people," Baedarsust admitted a few seconds later. "Maybe six."

"Five people in your entire military know your squad is here?!" he exclaimed. "By the false Prophecy!"

"Six, maybe."

"That's not very much responsibility at all!"

"No. No, it's not… But it's a legit op. And the mission computers know about it."

Sjulzulp thought for a long moment. "You're not… going rogue, are you?"

"Of course not! Where— where did you even learn that concept?!"

"You were the one who showed me all those old movies back when we were training—"

Frumers chose this moment to cut in. "Actually, that's exactly what we're doing. That TRO spy said we're supposed to—"

"Shut up Frumers," Baedarsust sigh exaggeratedly. "We've gone over this! We are supposed to be here."

Sjulzulp looked at him in alarm. "Woah, hold on. What was Frumers going to say?"

Frumers explained, "We were given orders to help your people with a special mission here, but the Grand Admiral of the Coalition made a pledge a month ago that none of the predator civilizations were going to have boots on the ground in any part of the Dominion while the civil war is ongoing."

"Yes, but that refers only to regular troops, not us," Baedarsust said, clearly rehashing an old argument. "We're special troops who go on special missions. Our boots don't count the same. And Frumers is being pedantic. He knows the human spy who gave us the orders had it all cleared with their legal intelligence."

"Yes, but what he could have meant was we should stay in orbit and help them with the targeting. From orbit. Without getting our boots on the ground."

"He said… do whatever is necessary to get it done." Baedarsust looked at Sjulzulp while pointing a claw at Frumers. "Don't worry about him. He's just being lazy. I told Frumers he could stay on the shuttle if he wanted, and now I regret giving him permission to come with at all."

"No way! I've been stuck on the shuttle for two months!" Frumers exclaimed. "Do you know how long the trip from Grantor to Tatolm is?"

"Two months?" Sjulzulp guessed. He remained alarmed. "Woah! Hold on. If you guys are not supposed to be here…"

"We are! Ignore his whining!"

"Wait, isn't there an easy way to settle this?" Sjulzulp asked. "Just… call the guy who gave you the orders and clarify if he meant you should come down here to do the mission!"

"No, because if we call him, he'll say no for sure."

"What?!"

"That's why he said do whatever is necessary and outfitted us entirely for a surface mission. We're not supposed to ask or clarify! We're supposed to infer."

"Infer?"

"Infer!"

"But what if— what if you get caught down here? Or killed?!"

"Then he'll tell them we didn't have permission. And since we don't have the combat robots with us, we might as well just be a bunch of Alien Legion volunteers with expensive tactical gear that anyone can buy in the gray markets over Titan."

Instead of alarmed, Sjulzulp was just confused now. "Wait… Wait."

"But if we don't get caught, then this is fine."

"Isn't that— isn't that just identical to something not being allowed?"

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"No, not at all. It's totally different. We just have to make sure to not get caught down here," Baedarsust said matter-of-factly.

Sjulzulp repeated, "Isn't that identical to something not being—"

"No, not at all!"

Sjulzulp looked between the two of them for a minute and then sighed. "I just… don't understand you predators sometimes."

Frumers nodded sympathetically as he pat Sjulzulp on the back. "You and me both, Slurp. You and me both."

Baedarsust counted every paw as they stepped onto the medium lift chopper, waiting until everyone was fully seated and tied into their seat restraints. One of the convenient things about loading Grass Eaters onto these transports was that they were tiny, and they were efficient with it.

He waited for the signal from all five of the adjacent choppers that they were ready.

With one final look at his tablet, he nodded, mostly to himself, and activated his microphone. "Phase One, go."

"Enemy rotary wing just landed outside Perimeter Line Angora, Nine Whiskers. Two kilometers to the east, by our estimates."

Nine Whiskers Sklolust played with her whiskers as she considered the local battle map. "How many of them?"

"Six of their medium-lift. We estimate that's about one hundred, maybe one-twenty paws. And there are rumors—"

Sklolust rolled her eyes. "Yes, their secret alien advisors that landed with their supplies last week." That secret was out of the bag before they even landed. It wasn't easy for them to hide anywhere. And in Sklolust's experience, there were only two kinds of predators who fought on the frontlines of the schism, the crazy volunteers and the ones who were not supposed to be here. "Did we get eyes on them?"

"We sent a flying machine over their base, but they shot it down. From our records of this unit we're dealing with, they are likely legit, not the… the volunteers."

"Good. Clandestine troops. Our bloodlines will be well-rewarded if we manage to kill some of them here," Sklolust said savagely.

"Yes, Nine Whiskers. They flew in low, so we didn't manage to get the flyers on the flight in. But based on the position of their landing zone, their target is obvious: the evacuated village down by the river."

"What do they want with that old village?"

"Digital Guide says… they might want to occupy the position so they can bring in more supplies by water. The schismatics are getting adept at using those new boats of theirs." And they were. That was unnatural. Znosians were not supposed to be that good at navigating near water. Yes, it was a necessity of life, but to have an entire ecosystem of platforms and to operate entirely on water? Another sign of the schismatics' deviancy.

"They want the riverside village, huh? We'll see about that."

"Yes, Nine Whiskers. Permission to deploy fire support package on the village."

"Granted. May the schismatics' eggs rot and shatter."

Thonk. Thonk. Thonk. Thonk. Thonk. Thonk…

The mortars outside coughed as they unleashed a furious barrage of pre-aimed shells at the village.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

A few minutes later, the long-range optics of the new drones showed the utter destruction of the village. She nodded in satisfaction as she watched the husk of the village slowly burn itself out in the distance.

Her subordinate surveyed the scene on his datapad for a moment. He said quietly, "Nothing could have survived that, Nine Whiskers."

"Yes, but these are schismatics and their alien advisors. We have plenty of shells, and we take absolutely nothing for granted. Hit them again."

"Yes, Nine Whiskers."

Thonk. Thonk. Thonk. Thonk. Thonk. Thonk…

"You know what? I want to be extra sure. Fire another salvo. Demolish everything. There should be nothing left of that village when our Marines go collecting their bodies for intelligence and identification later."

Thonk. Thonk. Thonk. Thonk. Thonk. Thonk…

The remote drones showed imagery of the destruction of the abandoned village.

Baedarsust shook his head and chuckled. "They took the bait. Phase Two, go."

The pilot called him in his helmet as the transport chopper began turning rapidly into their landing zone. "Advise the troops, on exit, left turn out of helo. I say again, left turn—"

"Understood. All troops, be advised, left turn out of the helo!"

"Check ramp! Check ramp!"

"Ramp down!"

"Final flare for LZ… Landing at POI. Go go go!"

"Go! Go! Go!"

Due to the distraction in the riverside village south of them, they weren't engaged or spotted by the enemies as they approached their actual target. The noise of the outgoing artillery nicely covered up the muffled sounds of their rides receding in the distance.

The platoon first encountered enemy resistance in the form of a basic security checkpoint at the edge of the actual target town. They crept up in the tall grass.

"Pssst… I see… six targets. Loyalist regulars. I've got the gunner in the technical," Sjulzulp whispered.

"Quietly," Baedarsust grunted.

As practiced, the Free Znosian Marine platoon spread out, lining the unaware enemies up with their weapons as they crouched behind the low grass. On their helmet displays, each target received a designation depending on their lines of sights… or multiple.

"Quietly," Baedarsust repeated, flicking a dial on his own weapon to switch it to subsonic mode. "Five… four… three… two… one…"

Click. Click. Click.

On command, a dozen weapons puffed quiet noises as they ejected their suppressed payloads, simultaneously taking out the checkpoint squad. The platoon moved past them, and Baedarsust pulled out his datapad—

Click. Click.

Baedarsust's head snapped up. One of the Free Znosians confirmed a kill that was evidently still twitching. He gave him a quick nod of approval as their eyes met.

He pointed at the buildings around them. "Spread out. Slurp, have your guys take Objectives Bone and Collie."

Those were the four and five story tall residential structures surrounding their actual target, each with a predesignated marker on their helmet displays.

"Roger, setting containment zone."

"Squad Leader Khvisk, come with me and the Lemmings, we'll take Bone." Then, he pointed at one of the troopers standing watch idly, "You! With the machine gun!"

"Yes?"

He turned on his IR pointer, trusting that her helmet would see it. He flashed an alley that provided a natural chokepoint into the area. "Setup your gun to watch this."

"Yes, High Pack Leader."

"Good. Squad Leader Mnazilsto, come with me. We need to figure out a way to get you—"

"Shhhhh!" Spommu suddenly hissed as she took her eyes off her optics. "Shit! They've got a vehicle headed this way. We aren't ready for the next phase yet!"

"Shit!" Baedarsust agreed. "Improvise. Clear up these dead bodies. Slurp, how's your lying?"

"Lying? I never lie, High Pack Leader."

"Perfect. You must have been practicing. For the next ten minutes, you are the rightful squad leader of this Loyalist checkpoint."

"Yes, High Pack Leader."

The platoon hurriedly cleared away the dead Loyalist bodies, dumping them in the shoddy guard house. The Lemmings crammed into the stall, hiding themselves beneath the windowed portion while watching Sjulzulp's helmet camera in their displays.

The rest of the Free Znosian Marines took their positions, pretending to be bored guards at the checkpoint. They removed the blue headbands on their helmets identifying them as Free Znosians, replacing them with strips of white cloth that indicated they were unthinking Loyalists. One of the squad leaders hastily covered over a small pool of blood on the ground with a tarp she found in the guardhouse.

Hopefully it's too dark for them to notice anyway.

Three minutes later, the expected vehicle rolled up. It was a Loyalist Light Longclaw with a large burn mark on its side. The driver stood up in her cupola, her torso visible. She squinted at the bright checkpoint light aimed at her.

"Identify yourself!" Sjulzulp ordered in an authoritative voice. And it was not unnatural on him. He was a seven whiskers with some authority. He knew how to play the part.

"Five Whiskers Zymriski, 1804 Combined Arms Battalion."

"Identification documents."

The five whiskers seemed to grumble, but she quickly threw him an identification card. Sjulzulp pretended to check it for a moment. He shone a pocket flashlight at Zymriski's face, causing her to wince at the sudden brightness. "Anyone else with you?"

"Huh?"

"I asked, anyone else with you?" he asked a little louder.

"I have me, my gunner, my commander, and… six guys in the back," she replied.

"Good," Sjulzulp said. "Have them all step out of the vehicle."

"That is not the normal procedure…" Zymriski began to complain.

"Procedures change for reasons of security. Are you too busy to comply?" he asked dangerously.

"Of course not."

"Then step out of the vehicle. All of you!"

"Yes, Seven Whiskers," she replied, sighing. Then, she dipped back down into her cupola, yelling at her crew, "They want you guys to get out. Get out."

Some more grumbles echoed from the metallic cabin, but the crew slowly filed out the back, lining themselves up in front of their Light Longclaw.

"Is there… is there a problem, Seven Whiskers?" the vehicle driver asked nervously.

He took another suspicious glance at Zymriski. "You… look different from this picture."

"I— I had my head fur combed the other way the day they took our pictures!" she said exasperatedly. "It was a long time ago! What is it with you checkpoint guards? Every time! Asking me about my appearance as if I can control—"

"Alright, alright. Whatever." Sjulzulp tossed her card back. "Good enough for me."

"Why the security procedure changes?" Zymriski asked. "And… there seem to be more of you here tonight than usual."

Plus, she didn't mention it out loud, but Loyalist Seven Whiskers were usually too highly ranked to be personally operating an outer perimeter checkpoint. It was not… totally unheard of, just slightly out of place. But Sjulzulp didn't think to replace his insignia, and he was stuck with it now.

"More of us?"

"Yeah." Zymriski squinted at his squad. "There's usually only three or four of you here…"

"Didn't you hear the fighting down south earlier?" Sjulzulp asked. "The schismatics aren't slacking, so we can't either."

"Oh. Huh. Yeah. I guess that makes sense."

"Wait a minute." One of the members in her crew suddenly spoke up, jabbing a claw at Sjulzulp as he squinted into the floodlights. "I recognize you. Aren't you— aren't you Five Whiskers Sjulzulp?"

Sjulzulp's heart skipped a beat. "What? Who? No idea what you're talking about—"

The crew member smiled wide. "Yeah! It's you! Sjulzulp! Wow! Small galaxy! Haven't seen you in a while, since we got—" Then, his grin disappeared. "Wait. Didn't you desert and join the—"

Click.

He stopped talking as he noticed about a dozen rifles now trained on his face in the dark. By instinct, he raised his paws in the universal gesture of "I'm not a threat".

Luckily for them, the other crew members followed his example, including Zymriski.

Sjulzulp smiled ruefully. "Ah, I think I do recognize you from my time back on the ZNS 2040. Sorry, folks, you're going to need to cancel your weekend plans."

"I knew something was wrong!" Zymriski snarled angrily. "Schismatics! Infiltrators!"

"We prefer free, but have it your way."

"And you had the gall to question my identification!" She shook her head, then sighed resignedly. "What are you going to do to us?"

"Prisoners, of course. For prisoner exchange. Unless you do something stupid, which will make this vacation from the war even less fun for you."

"What if we switch sides and— and become one of you?" one of the crew members asked curiously.

"That… would count as doing something stupid," Khvisk said to snickers from the rest of the Marines.

One of the squad leaders brought out a few sets of plastic restraints. They were careful to strip the new prisoners of their weapons and explosives before tying them together and leading them towards the guardhouse.

The Lemming emerged. "Good work, Slurp," Baedarsust praised. "And nice thinking, getting them out of the turret first."

Sjulzulp grinned. "Do you think we can drive this Light Longclaw all the way back to base?"

"Unlikely. Wreck the engines and weapons, and rig up the door with a grenade for the next unlucky bastard."

Sjulzulp sighed, slightly dejected. "Awww. Right. Winning the war, one unlucky bastard at a time."

"Hey. Cheer up, Slurp. Every bit counts. Like climbing a mountain, one step at a time. Like— what's that thing you guys say now?"

"Next year in Znos?"

"Exactly. To next year in Znos—"

"Ahhhhh! It's the abominations!" one of the prisoners screamed as he noticed the Malgeir.

Baedarsust sighed. "Someone brought gags too, right?"

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