Furry Ops

Prologue

T minus 24 hours, Mt. Hue:

The wind howled cruelly at the mouth of the cave. Alex Mason was squatting in a dark corner cleaning the AK-47 he had captured from a VC earlier that day. He was in the high passes of the Vietnam Mountains, far behind enemy lines. If they capture me out here, he thought my own country would deny my very existence.

But as he scrubbed the last of the caked-on blood off of the rifle's barrel, he turned his thoughts elsewhere. Not two days ago, when he had begun his ascent into this hell, he had seen a strange light in the sky…

Part 1

T minus 66 hours, Mt. Hue:

Mason had just parted ways with his long-time comrade and friend Frank Woods. Woods' last words were: "Try not to get yourself killed." Mason's were: "Ditto."

He reflected on whether or not he would see Woods again. He shrugged it off and focused on the mission. He had been sent deep into the mountain range to locate and destroy a missile site currently held by the NVA. It was him alone—HQ knew that too many cooks would spoil the soup, and McNamara had a very particular palate.

He was sent in with his 1911 (which he affectionately named "Sally"), two extra clips of ammo, a silencer, a hunting knife, and a bag packed with C4. Virtually, he was naked—yet the gear seemed heavy to him. This gear symbolizes the weight of the Western world. I cannot fail!

At that very moment, he heard (or saw, since the sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced before) something to his right. He darted his vision in that direction, crouched, and brought up his sidearm. He stared beyond the tree line and into the overcast skyline. And there it was: a purple disc floating in the clouds. Its size could not be judged, since he had no idea how close he was to the anomaly. He referred to it as such since, instead of a physical object, it looked rather like an absence in the sky. It was simply space, or maybe even an absence of space. He wasn't sure.

However, just as soon as he had seen it, it was gone. It vanished in the same sensation with which it had arrived. Mason was sure he had seen another, smaller object fly out of the disc before it left. Not knowing what else to think, he automatically thought: this must be some new technology given to the enemy by China… or Russia. I have to hurry—the site is just on the other side of this mountain. He continued his trek with increased caution.

T minus 21 hours, Mt. Hue:

The President's voice, Kennedy's voice, came back to Mason in a dream.

"We are in grave danger from the Communists…" He slid over a photo of the man Mason was sent to hunt down. Dragovitch.

Resnov's pale blue eyes shone dimly in the fire as his mouth moved under the cloak of his heavy moustache: "Dragovitch, Krepchenko, Steiner… all must die!"

He woke and looked frantically around himself.

"Resnov-!" he faltered and came to full consciousness, "I'm not in Vorkuta anymore. That's right, I'm in Vietnam… Dragovitch is here… somewhere…"

He gripped Sally, feeling the notched handle and customized trigger housing. She had belonged to another soldier before him: Hudson, a CIA operative and Mason's handler. He had given Mason the weapon with a single directive: "Kill as many as you can."

"I will, Hudson," he said to the darkness, "I will." With that, he rose and shouldered his bag again. As he left the cave, he went over in his mind all of the procedures he must do in order to cover his tracks. Charlie can't know I've ever been here—I'm a ghost.

But all he could think about was food. He hadn't eaten anything for two days. Food capture wasn't his strong suit, so that was the only sore point he had with the mission. But if the suits (and shades, in Hudson's case) move their pawns to a square, the pawn has no place in protest.

The bush just ahead of him rustled. Mason stopped dead in his tracks and inched down to a half kneel. He could just make out the shape of an animal moving behind the bush. He took out his knife without a sound and took the first step. The bush grew nearer as the rustling grew louder. All the while, Mason thought about what kind of animal it was. It's probably some damn squirrel. Your mind makes things bigger and better when you're hungry—it's a survival instinct passed down from our evolutionary ancestors. And Mason felt quite feral in the moment. He lowered himself again right in front of the bush and, with hardly a sound, leapt forward.

There was a cry as his knife grazed the flesh of the creature; but not any cry he had expected. It was a human's cry. As he brought his knife back for another stab he heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol being un-holstered. I've made a terrible mistake! This is Charlie, squatting in this bush, not some animal! Fuck!

His hand leapt down to his own pistol, but it was not to be. In all the haze of the tropical twilight he could not foresee the next attack. A flash of red light came from the bush and Sally was at once knocked out of his hand. He dodged to the right and brought up his knife. The haze was thick, but from this new angle he could see the outline of his foe.

The stood apart from one-another: Mason with the knife and the other with his indiscernible weapon. Mason judged him to be quite short, even for a local. He was wearing baggy pants and some sort of tactical gear on his torso. Hanging from his belt was some oblong object that was swaying behind him. But most curious was his head, for he looked as though he were wearing a hat shaped by two ears. Without a doubt, this was the strangest foe Mason had ever laid eyes on.

It spoke.

"Drop the weapon!" The voice was much higher than his own, yet definitely male.

"Who are you?" Mason asked, surprised to be conversing in English with a stranger here.

"Drop the weapon, then we'll talk," asserted the voice once more. Mason had no choice but to comply. I'm not stupid enough to bring a knife to a gun fight. The knife thudded against the dense mountain soil. "Kick it away!" He did so. He took off his AK and threw it down on the grass in front of him as well.

The figure approached slowly, and as he did so he came into a shaft of light emanating from a gap in the canopy above. What Mason saw next he would never forget: a short man stood before him with a compact build, but his head was that of a fox and his arms were covered with orange hair.

"Okay, now what the fuck!?" came Mason's reaction. In retrospect, it was quite indelicate, but those were the only words he could find to say.

"Yeah, well, you're not the looker yourself either." The stranger's retort was oddly cynical, and to watch the canine face create these human sounds was like nothing Mason had ever seen before.

However, before Mason could inquire further, the creature said: "My name is Fox McCloud. Forgive me, but this is necessary." And with that, his pistol came down upon Mason's head and darkness took him.

To Be Continued…