Days of Ruin: United Offensive

by SkyFighter

There were always skeptics of the history the Federation put in the textbooks. I was among them, I knew there was more to the war against the humans than everyone said. I now know the grim truth and fight to preserve it, but knowledge comes with a price..

4. Betrayal in the Sky

Author's Note: Hey guys! Sorry for the massive delay since my last update. I could post a sizable explanation about why it's taken me so long, but really that would just be me making excuses. Anyway, I've typed up an extra long chapter of United Offensive this time, and I've also updated the content of previous chapters to better reflect my improved writing skills from this past year. Although no plot changes have been made, I would suggest to my followers to read them through again for a refresher. I would also really appreciate your feedback (positive reviews especially, as they give me more motivation to write), and the review button is at the very bottom of this chapter.

A side note, I also introduce a couple OC's sent to me by some of my reviewers in this chapter. Thanks to their authors for sending them to me, they fit surprisingly well into the plot I have planned for this story!

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon or any aspect of it. I merely am writing a story using characters and a species of creatures which are based off of their creations.

Endo Sekai belongs to Blazing Sceptile.

Martin Anderson belongs to Sgt. Shank.

Thanks again to those authors for sending me their characters for me to use, and a special shout out to my pal Johto Gunner004, who so kindly mentioned me in an author's note in his story Humanity's Last Hope.

Now without further ado, lets get on with the next chapter of Days of Ruin: United Offensive!

---

Several hours earlier, unnamed settlement, Utah...

The moon was still high in the sky when a rugged-looking human figure emerged from the shadows of a bombed-out strip mall. With practiced precision, he agilely leaped onto one of the crumbling walls, then vaulted from there onto a broken platform that had once stretched across the top of the building as the roof, all without disturbing so much as a loose stone. He brushed his shoulder-length navy colored hair out of his face, before unclipping his thermal scope from his belt and scanning the horizon.

Nope, nothing, he thought, adjusting his scope and sweeping the area again to confirm his initial sweep. He was on midnight patrol for the second time in the past week, but he didn't mind. Midnight patrols were like a challenge for him, a challenge to stealthily creep through the dead of night, all the while keeping alert for any signs of an incoming attack from the PLA, feral pokemon, or raiders looking for easy plunder. However, like nearly all nights, nothing was stirring except for the northern winds, bringing a slight chill to the air as it came down from the mountains. He couldn't help but sigh as he clipped his scope back to his belt; sometimes he missed the time when he had crossed blades with the PLA on a daily basis in the Southeast Asian jungles.

Those were the good old days, he thought as a wistful smile crept across his face, constant battles, rugged terrain, and a paycheck that could have easily paid for all the luxuries he could ever dream of. Of course, those days had come and gone with the years ago…

Maybe if I try my aura, he pondered, shutting his crimson eyes and allowing his senses to reach out into the world around him. His aura abilities weren't as pronounced as a full-blood lucario pokemorph, but through practice and sheer determination, the battle-hardened warrior had been able to develop them into an effective tool in his arsenal.

As he began to tighten his mental focus, he began to sense the essence of the life around him, and from there, he began to form mental images of what exactly was going on in his environment. He could see a noctowl calmly riding the breezes in search of prey, and a little farther away, a ninetales was curled up in her warm den, nursing her pups, as the father stealthily hunted in the surrounding area. Behind him, he could make out the forms of his fellow freedom fighters as some of them slept, while others kept watch with their weapons at the ready...

"Tired, Endo?" a familiar baritone voice called from behind him, startling the lucario hybrid back into reality.

"No, Captain," he replied, straightening back up. "I was trying to use my aura to broaden my search radius."

"Good man," the middle-aged absol morph replied. His tone was warm, but Endo could sense his hidden anxiety. "Did you detect anything?"

"A handful of pokemon, and Mark Saria's team relieving Martin Anderson's at the sentry post; but other than that, nothing." Endo listed to his superior, who grunted in acknowledgment, but said nothing. "Is something bothering you?"

"I'm an absol pokemorph, Endo," his commander retorted good-naturedly, faint traces of a smile emerging on his charcoal muzzle, "there's always something bothering me!"

"That's not what I meant, Captain."

"Hm?"

"You've seemed a bit distracted today," Endo pointed out mildly, unclipping his thermal scope from his belt and scanning the horizon again. "It's not at all like you. You have a bad feeling about something?"

"You know me too well, my friend," the absol sighed. "You see, I've been having this dream…" The aging morph trailed off, turning his graying muzzle up toward the moon, clearly deep in thought.

For a moment, Endo considered rousing his commander, but then thought better of it, not wishing to pressure his commander into revealing something he didn't wish to. Not one to waste idle time, he took out his scope and scanned the horizon a third time, while his commander pondered his apparent dream. Finally, the absol morph patted him on the shoulder.

"Come on," he called, as he leapt to the ground. "We had better head back. We've finished our patrol, and the sentries will start to get nervous if we're away for too long."

~~oo0oo~~

Shiloh burst through the door of the briefing room just as the final seconds before oh-four hundred hours were ticking away, gasping for breath from his panicked sprint through the Fort Talon corridors.

"I'm glad you could take the time from your no-doubt busy schedule to join us, Private Sanderson," Colonel White sneered, a dark smile creeping across his features. "We were beginning to wonder if you were going to show up!"

I see he's still blaming me for all of this, Shiloh sighed inwardly. There was no point in dwelling on his commander's digs at him today—as if there ever was—he couldn't do anything to stop them from coming, and there were more important things to concern himself with today: such as the mission at hand. He saluted politely to the Colonel, then, at the snorlax's gesture, sat down at the free seat in the middle of the room between his squad mates and a small platoon of rugged-looking soldiers.

I've never seen them before… Shiloh pondered as he turned his head slightly to examine the unfamiliar troopers. By his count, there were exactly sixteen of them, all dressed in identical jet-black uniforms with an ominous crimson and black insignia depicting a chandelure stitched to the sleeve of their uniforms. A tall and sturdily-built bayleef, a swampert with a badly torn head fin, a honchkrow with ragged wing feathers, and a serious looking emolga occupied the row of chairs immediately to Shiloh's left. Among those further down the way sat an ampharos, a machamp, a sneasel, and a zorua morph to name a few; many of them marked with scars from missions past, and each and every one of them displayed the air of a seasoned veteran. Simply put, none of these guys were strangers to the battlefield.

Another thing Shiloh duly noted as he examined the black uniformed soldiers was the species of the morphs in the unit: many of them were either grass or electric types—both of which were difficult for him to match up against. Lucky for him they were all on the same side!

Shiloh suddenly felt someone's gaze upon him, and looked up to see the unnerving sight of all sixteen of the black-clad warriors looking at him with ice-cold, penetrating gazes. He must have been staring at them without realizing it, and they had obviously noticed. He abruptly looked away toward the front of the room, feeling his face grow hot in embarrassment as his friends snickered at him in the seats to his right. Lieutenant Kamone opened his mouth for a jibe, when Colonel White loudly cleared his throat.

"Listen up, people! Let's get this briefing started!" the Colonel called the group to order, looking up at the clock behind him. At his motion, an assistant walked over to the front of the room and pulled open a large pulldown map of the region. "As you are all aware, there was once a pipeline that ran from the rich oil fields of the north down to the main network that sprawled across the continent. This network was effectively the lifeline of the military machine of this continent's armies, which was why we severed it almost a decade ago. After years of relying on our allies overseas for most of our oil supplies and dealing with rampant piracy in the oceans, the Governor believes it is time to reestablish a supply line to and from the oil-rich fields in the northeast region of this continent."

Colonel White paused as general murmurs of agreement passed through the group in front of him. When the noise died down, the snorlax continued. "We've been transporting personnel and materials to the Alaska Region for several weeks now, and our men are finally ready to begin sending convoys of oil tankers down the roads toward our front lines down here. To that end, there's one shall we say 'small' problem: the large expanse of Forbidden Lands between them and us. This is where you come in."

The Commander paused, tracing a route on the map between Alaska and Fort Talon with a red dry erase pen. "The first tanker convoy left the Alaskan Refineries several days ago, but they've suffered several attacks from guerilla forces in the Forbidden Lands which have crippled the convoy's escort team, although the tankers themselves remain undamaged. Your mission is to fly out of Fort Talon in that T-7 on the tarmac, airdrop into the Washington Region and rendezvous with the tanker convoy, bringing them much-needed supplies and personnel. From there, you will continue to escort the convoy through the Forbidden Lands and bring them safely to Fort Talon. Understood?"

"Understood." The group replied in a single collective voice.

"Good," the Base Commander boomed, scratching his robust stomach absent-mindedly. "Continuing on, the convoy consists of twenty large tank trucks, each carrying ten-thousand gallons of fuel. The escort force contains a pawful of light armor units and Humvees which will prove helpful should you run into any guerillas. Remember, what you're protecting is extremely valuable cargo, and you will have no immediate backup available. You must rely on what you carry with you to see you through your journey."

"Permission to speak, sir?" a sturdily-built ampharos sitting in the front of the black-clad platoon requested.

"Granted."

"What will our armament be for this mission, sir?"

"Your team's armament will consist of whatever weapons you choose from the Fort Talon Armory," the snorlax replied. "You're the field commander of this operation and a very experienced soldier Captain Shepherd, so I'll leave all the decisions as to armament and squad pairings up to you. I understand you're not exactly familiar with my boys who will be 'tagging along' with you, but I assure you I wouldn't have assigned them to this task if I didn't feel they could handle it."

That's a laugh! Shiloh thought bitterly. You're just sending us on this so you can get us out of your fur for a few weeks!

"About your squad, sir…"

"Yes?"

"I have nothing against having a few extra paws on this mission, but with all respect to you and your men, we as a unit have been working together for years and we're very close-knit. I'm slightly concerned that adding a pawful of men who have no prior combat experience—much less experience with Special Forces—could be detrimental to our fighting ability."

"I understand your concerns Captain, but this isn't exactly a Special Forces operation like you are used to—rather if we didn't have personnel shortages, this would have been assigned solely to my Marines. I knew that we were receiving help from Central Command for this mission, but I honestly never expected them to send the elites for this. Nonetheless, your men are trained to be able to handle any situation, no matter how difficult, so I expect that a few FNG's on a mission such as this won't pose too much of a problem. Besides, it isn't like these guys are completely without experience; they have taken shifts at the border checkpoints before."

"Very well, sir, I'll have to trust your judgment," the ampharos Captain replied, seeming appeased for the time being. "What will your squad's armament be, so we know how to prepare?"

"Well, as you're going to be the field commander for this operation, that's really up to you," Colonel White shrugged. "You could give them general-purpose assault rifles if you would like, this squad is very flexible, but in training exercises they tend to assume certain roles. Lieutenant Kamone, he's the Charmeleon, generally acts as the designated marksman. Sergeant Lanky…"

"I respectfully asked to be called 'Tarzan', sir," the aforementioned breloom interjected, before clamping his red paw over his mouth in realization of what he had just done. He had interrupted the Base Commander, an offense that usually ended in disciplinary action.

Shiloh's breath caught in his throat, they were in enough of a hole as it was, without interrupting their CO! The very air felt as if it had been sucked from the room, as everyone tensely waited for the snorlax's response.

"Sorry," the Colonel finally grunted with a smile that appeared rather forced. "'Tarzan', as he's called, usually carries a shoulder-mounted weapon in combat simulations. I don't think you'll be running into any enemy armor or aircraft out there, but it may be helpful to have him carry an RPG. Fritz is a combat engineer and Private Sanderson…"

The Base Commander paused and Shiloh held his breath in anticipation of what he was going to say. So far his commander had recommended the positions that his squad was used to performing, but since he was still being held responsible for what happened the night before, there was the looming threat that the snorlax would intentionally recommend a job he didn't like, and it was going to be a long few weeks as it already was.

"Well," the tubby Base Commander continued thoughtfully, "Sanderson's young and has a reputation for being a bit of a troublemaker around here, so you'll want to keep an eye on him. He's not the most athletic marine here, and he's only an average shot—provided he can figure out how to turn off the safety on his gun, that is!"

Liar! I'm one of, if not the best shot on this base and you'd see it if you ever bothered to check the assessment scores for yourself instead of listening to that two-faced lizard Kamone. Oh wait, I forgot! You're too busy butt-kissing Central Command and eating doughnuts from your minifridge! And I already told you, someone rigged the safety on that rifle so that no matter what position you turned it to, it wouldn't work!

"That said," the Colonel continued, ignoring the sour look on the vaporeon's face, "just give him an assault rifle, I doubt he could figure out how to use anything bigger than that anyway."

"It sounds like you know what your men are best suited for," the Special Forces Captain observed. "I'll give them armaments to match their strengths, sir."

"Very well, you're all dismissed. I now leave this mission in your capable paws, Captain," the snorlax boomed, motioning to his assembled soldiers that they were free to leave. "My men will show you where the Armory is so you can select your weapons."

With that, the black uniformed troopers stood up and began filing out of the room and into the hallway, already organizing themselves into their familiar squads as the inexperienced soldiers from Fort Talon collected themselves and moved to follow. Shiloh took his position behind Tarzan at the back of the line as the four marines marched single-file out of the room. As he stepped into the hallway, he was greeted by the sight of the black-clad troopers lined up two-by-two, waiting patiently to be led to the Armory to select their weapons.

"Oh, one last thing!" Colonel White called, poking his head out from the briefing room door. "I'd like a word with my marines back inside real quick."

"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Kamone replied, as the four marines turned around to follow the Base Commander back into the briefing room.

"Wait a second!" the snorlax interrupted, raising a paw up to stop them. "I told you to show Captain Shepherd's team the Armory, didn't I?"

"Yes you did, sir." His charmeleon Lieutenant confirmed.

"Dammit," Colonal White sighed, as he turned back to look at the clock inside the briefing room, which now read five twenty-five. "I've already kept you nearly thirty minutes longer than I planned."

"It's not too much of a problem, Colonel," Captain Shepherd shrugged. "We were scheduled to deploy at oh-six hundred, and we can get that bird loaded up to go in twenty if we have to."

"Perhaps, but I'd still prefer to give you enough time to get things right," the snorlax fretted, rubbing his forhead with his paw. "Alright, here's what we'll do," he finally decided, looking over Shepherd's men and his own before finally fixing his gaze upon Shiloh. "Sanderson, you lead Shepherd and his men to the Armory and help them load the equipment. I'll just have a quick word with your colleagues before you all deploy, and I'm sure they can pass on the message to you. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" the four marines replied in unison.

"Alright, then get on with it!" the snorlax snapped, his voice echoing through the cement halls.

Without wasting a second, Lieutenant Kamone led two of his squad mates back into the briefing room with Colonel White, while Shiloh scanned the crowd of black-op troopers in search of their commander. Rather unsurprisingly, he found the distinctive yellow fur of Captain Shepherd at the front of the line, the ampharos watching the vaporeon with expectant eyes. Suddenly, Shiloh found himself at a loss for words as he met the battle-hardened ampharos's gaze.

C'mon Shiloh, think of something! But what the hell do I say to a morph who has me outclassed in both rank and experience?

"Um, if you and your men will follow me, I'll lead you to the armory, sir." Shiloh finally stammered, his voice coming out more as a squeak.

"Very well, Private," Shepherd replied with a curt nod. "Lead on."

"Right, uh, the Armory is this way," Shiloh said, motioning for Shepherd and his men to follow as he briskly led them down the cement halls towards a more isolated sector of the building between the barracks and the hangars outside.

C'mon Shiloh, get a grip of yourself! You're going to be working with these morphs for the next few weeks; you want to give them a good impression after His Highness made you his doormat in the briefing! Yeah, I'll show them that I'm not some helpless slack-off like Colonel White made me out to be!

"Hey vaporeon?" a voice called from behind him, snapping Shiloh out of his reprieve. "Is this it?"

Shiloh looked back toward the source of the voice to find Shepherd standing several feet behind him, next to a pair of heavy double doors with the label 'Danger: Armory' emblazoned upon them in dark red letters.

"Um, yes, that's it, sir," Shiloh confirmed, feeling his face redden. He had been so distracted by his own thoughts that he had nearly led them all right past it!

"Then let's quit wasting time standing around here and start getting weapons!" the ampharos replied, and several grunts of agreement came from the crowd of soldiers behind him. "I take it you have the access code so we can get in?"

"I have one, yes," Shiloh grinned, feeling a semblance of authority as he strode up to the door and punched in a series of numbers on the keypad on the handle.

As he punched in the sixth digit and turned the handle, the door opened with a metallic squeaking sound, revealing the cache of weapons in the room they concealed. Shiloh stood back and held the door as the soldiers behind him began filing into the room.

"Hey kid, a word of advice," the intimidating swampert with the shredded head-fin coughed, stopping to examine the vaporeon. "Keep your head at all times. Spacing out like that in hostile territory will only get you killed. You got that?"

"Yes, sir," Shiloh gulped, craning his head to look up at the much larger morph. The swampert was at least four inches taller than him, and probably a good thirty pounds heavier—all of it in muscle.

"Good," the swampert grunted, "I don't want to be the one scraping your guts up off the ground if you get shot-up."

Without waiting for a reply, the swampert continued into the armory without waiting for a response from the rookie Marine.

"That's good," Shiloh muttered to himself, making a note to ask the older soldier about his shredded head fin, "because I don't want to be getting shot-up, either!"

As the last few members of the black uniformed unit joined their colleagues inside the armory, Shiloh kicked down the doorstop to hold the door open and followed them inside. There he was met with the sight of the black-ops soldiers going through the weaponry, trying them out in a manner that in many ways could be likened to women shopping in a clothing store. They took them off the rack, examined them in their paws, tried them on over their shoulders, modeled them in front of their comrades, compared magazine and bullet sizes, and most importantly, checked to make sure their fingers fit in the trigger mechanism.

Despite how comical the soldiers appeared as they rummaged through the armory, Shiloh knew just how important it was to have a gun that was both functional and comfortable enough to carry. After all, there was no point in carrying a gun that you couldn't fire because your fingers were too big or too small to effectively operate the trigger—a problem which came about from having the wide variety of morphs of different shapes and sizes. In addition, they would be carrying whichever gun they chose for several weeks, and it would be their first line of defense if any humans dared to show their ugly mugs while they were crossing the Forbidden Lands. That wasn't to say they weren't capable of dispatching humans using just their abilities as pokemorphs, but guns saved precious time and energy, and there was always the possibility—however unlikely—of encountering organized human forces with firearms of their own.

Stepping around the various morphs clamoring about inside the already crowded armory, Shiloh made his way to where Captain Shepherd stood selecting a secondary weapon.

"Excuse me, sir," Shiloh coughed in an effort to get the ampharos's attention.

"Hold on for one second, Private," the electric-type replied, not turning his head from the sidearms on the shelf in front of him. After a moment of indecision, the ampharos finally pulled a Colt Python from the shelf, gave it a quick examination, and then slid it into the holster on his belt. "Alright, what was it you wanted, kid?"

"I was wondering which weapon you would like me to carry for this operation, sir," Shiloh inquired, casually gesturing to the guns of various shapes and sizes strewn about on the many different racks scattered throughout the armory. "I mean, I know Colonel White recommended I take an assault rifle, but I was wondering if you had a specific gun in mind, sir."

"Well, stick to the general weapon class that your commander recommended," Captain Shepherd said thoughtfully, "but I'll leave the decision of exactly which gun you choose completely up to you," the ampharos shrugged. "That is, if you can handle it."

"Yes, thank you, sir!" Shiloh replied, faint traces of enthusiasm creeping into his voice. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all! At least this commander was flexible enough to let him choose the weapon he wished to carry.

"Oh, and while you're selecting a weapon," the ampharos continued, "why don't you pick out a pawful of guns for your comrades to choose from, put them in a crate, and take them out to the plane? We've got to be ready to leave in less than fifteen minutes, and with loading the plane, I doubt that your friends will have time to come all the way back here to pick weapons for themselves before we leave."

"Yes sir," Shiloh nodded, "just to confirm, you want me to take a few extra guns so they have a selection to choose from?"

"I believe that's what I said, kid. Your commander said you were a troublemaker, are you hard of hearing too?"

"No sir, I just wanted to make sure I understood-"

"Well I would suggest you pay better attention next time, Private," the Captain snapped, irritation written all over his facial features. "If there's one thing I hate, its incompetence."

Shiloh was rather taken aback by the ampharos's sudden change in mood, things had just gone from looking up to back on the commander's blacklist in a matter of seconds; and he wasn't even doing anything wrong! This was turning out to be one of those days where he just couldn't win…

"Now beat it, soldier, I have more pressing matters to attend to!" Captain Shepherd finished angrily, before turning tail and stalking across the room to where his men were busy loading a crate with ammo and supplies.

Shiloh couldn't stop the icy feeling of dread crawling up his spine from the ampharos's words. It felt as if he was alone on this mission. His squad mates were angry with him for getting them in trouble, his commander made him sound like a ditz during the briefing, and now the commander of the unit that he was accompanying for this escort mission was damned sure he was as incompetent as he had been led to believe. If this was a sign of how the mission was going to go later on, they may as well have shot him on the spot.

Snap out of it! Shiloh shook his head violently in an effort to clear his thoughts, but the sudden action accomplished little but make him slightly dizzy. Your CO told you to pick a weapon for yourself and your friends. This mission's going to be what you make it. Stay positive! It's just been a rough few hours; this doesn't mean things won't work out!

Pushing his conflicting emotions to the back of his mind, he then turned to the nearest assault rifle shelf and began to look through it. Various guns of the said weapons class rested on the shelves, including M4 Carbines, HK416's, and several models of pokemorph-manufactured weapons. But to his dismay, the top two shelves had all but been picked clean by the other soldiers. Although there were plenty more guns to choose from, generally the best weapons were towards the top of the shelf—close to eye-level. He would have to settle for one of the guns on one of the lower shelves.

Crouching down to look at the lower racks, he casually ran his paw across the numerous weapons as he looked them over in hopes of finding a pleasant surprise. He was just about to give up his search for gold and take an HK416 off the rack, when one particular surprise on the very bottom rack caught his eye: a desert camouflaged SCAR-H with a flip-up ACOG scope already attached. The FN SCAR was a somewhat more uncommon human weapon used in the war, specifically because they were one of the larger assault rifles used by the US Military and not as maneuverable for urban combat seen during the Great War as smaller assault rifles such as HK416's. But out in difficult terrain, a SCAR's range and reliability was where it made its name. SCAR's, specifically the Heavy model, had an effective range that could put it in the 'marksman rifle' class, and it was both more accurate and resistant to stoppages than its indirect predecessor, the M4 Carbine.

"Who left a gun like you on the bottom shelf?" Shiloh pondered out loud as he took the weapon off the shelf and examined it in greater detail. Judging by the moderately gun's sized grip and relatively narrow trigger guard; it had clearly been originally designed for a human soldier's paw as opposed to a morph's. Because pokemorphs came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, the guns they designed had to accommodate a broader spectrum of paw sizes. Pokemorphs such as a tyrannitar or snorlax sure wouldn't be able to cram their hulking paws into a grip like this one, and small morphs would have the opposite problem of the grip being too large for them to carry the gun easily.

Shiloh looked up toward where the other soldiers were loading supplies into crates and beginning to take them from the armory to the plane. None of them would be able to comfortably carry a weapon with a grip like this, but perhaps he could. He wasn't a massive morph by any means, neither was he among the vertically challenged. In fact, from what he had seen of the unfortunate humans they kept in the zoo, he was actually comparable in size to them, roughly the height of an adult human male. Perhaps he would be able to carry the gun.

He carefully took the SCAR's grip in his right paw. The grip was slightly different than that of the morph-built assault rifles he was used to using, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Slightly encouraged, he slipped his index finger inside the guard and rested it on the trigger. He had been slightly concerned that the webbing between his digits would pose a problem, but this quickly proved that this was not the case. The gun, although somewhat different than he was used to, fit quite nicely in his paws.

Having decided upon his primary weapon, Shiloh quickly grabbed a pawful of twenty-round box magazines filled with 7.62x51mm NATO rounds and slipped them into their appropriate pouches on his vest. It was better that he carry them on his person than put them in the box with his friends weapons, it would save him the trouble of retrieving the ammo later anyway at the slight inconvenience of being a few pounds heavier for a more couple hours. Counting the rounds in his gun, he was carrying exactly one hundred and twenty rounds, or about ten pounds of ammo. Add that to the twenty-five pound vest he was wearing and the eight pound gun slung across his back, and he was beginning to feel the weight of the equipment on his shoulders; and he hadn't even put on his backpack with his parachute yet—that was in the plane.

That settled Shiloh looked up at the clock. It read fifteen minutes to six, just enough time to get his friends weapons and load them in a crate to take to the plane. Realizing time was of the essence, he went through the aisles to where his squad mates kept their preferred weapons. Mercifully after all the things that had gone wrong today, Shiloh found their weapons untouched by the other troops and in the exact places they had last left them. That made things considerably easier for him to get the weapons his squad mates liked: a PMR (Pokemorph Marksman Rifle) with an ACOG/Thermal scope for Lieutenant Kamone, an RPG-7 morph-customized rocket launcher and a submachine gun for Tarzan, and a PAR-4 plus a couple packs of C-4 for Polsky.

Shiloh quickly loaded the said weapons into a medium-sized bullet-proof crate, and then dragged it over to where the extra ammunition was kept. He quickly collected enough ammo to fully stock his squad's weapons and pockets, and tossed them into the crate, then dragged the box a little further down the rack to where the grenades were kept. He grabbed a couple frags and a flashbang for himself and clipped them to his belt, then grabbed the same for his squad. He looked up in hopes to find another trooper to help him carry the crate of weapons to the plane, but to his dismay, the armory was now vacant.

Shiloh cursed in frustration at the lack of help he was getting from his supposed partners today, looking up at the clock as he did so. The clock now read just over five until the hour, which didn't leave him much time to carry the crate all the way to the tarmac—as if he could anyway, the crate's very shape made it difficult to carry to begin with and to top it off, it was now filled full of guns and ammo for three other people! He quickly searched around for a cart, but both of them were missing. The other soldiers had probably taken them to carry the other ammunition crates they were filling, leaving him to carry his whole team's equipment single-handedly.

"So much for 'all for one,'" Shiloh grunted as he dragged the crate with him as he made his way towards the tarmac. He could already picture Colonel White chewing him out for scuffing the finish on the floor, but he didn't care. He wouldn't see the tubby snorlax for a couple weeks at the earliest anyway. Shiloh dragged the crate over the raised portion of the doorway which led outside into the brisk morning air. "Because it has definitely been nothing except one for all today!"

~oo0oo~

After much effort, Shiloh managed to drag the crate across the tarmac and to the place where the T-7 sat with its engines at idle, clouds of steam rushing from the exhaust ports of the plane's jets. Careful to avoid the jet wash, he pulled the crate along behind him toward the open tail hatch, where a cross ampharos stood waiting with his arms folded.

"You're three minutes late," the Captain said flatly.

"Sorry, sir," Shiloh muttered begrudgingly, biting back the urge to snap back with a stinging retort about being left to carry a bulky hundred pound crate on his own.

"Nevermind!" the ampharos snapped in response. "There's a nasty storm brewing near our flight path through Utah, and we don't want to have to detour. Get the crate into the cargo bay; then tell your pals in the personnel section that their weapons have arrived."

"Yes, sir."

Captain Shepherd turned to head up the ramp. "We're leaving immediately," he said. "For your comrades' sake, I hope you didn't forget anything!"

"That makes two of us, sir," Shiloh replied with a slight grin, despite his less-than stellar mood.

Following the mission commander's lead, he dragged the crate up the metal ramp, into the dimly-lit interior of the plane. Captain Shepherd radioed to the pilots that they were ready to leave, before heading to the personnel compartment, leaving Shiloh alone in the cargo bay. A moment later the large hatch which made up the tail section of the plane shuddered, then closed and locked itself, making the already dark cargo bay even darker. Lucky for Shiloh that vaporeons had good night vision.

But the darkness didn't last long, as florescent bulbs lining the ceiling flickered to life, restoring light to the cargo bay and causing Shiloh to squint in the sudden brightness. He dragged the crate the last few meters to the front wall of the compartment and strapped it down, before he too opened the door to the personnel section of the plane and went inside, closing the door behind him. His fellow troopers were seated on the bench seats running parallel to the fuselage, their backpacks containing their rations and parachutes sitting atop the rack above their heads and all of them, with the exception of the squad from Fort Talon, sat with their weapons across their laps. At the front of the room, Shiloh could see the two pilots through the open cockpit door as they systematically went through their pre-flight checklist. They too, Shiloh noticed, were wearing chandelure patches on the sleeves of their uniforms, which struck him as rather odd as pilots and foot soldiers rarely wore identical markings. Must be a Special Forces thing…

"I trust you got our weapons like Captain Shepherd assured us you would?" Lieutenant Kanone asked, his voice cutting through the hushed chatter drifting amongst the soldiers filling the seats inside the room.

"Yes I did," Shiloh answered, as he quickly took a seat on the bench at the front of the room, Polsky to his left and the cockpit wall to his right. "They're in the crate right by the door as you go out."

No sooner had he sat down and fastened his harness then the mighty jet engines of the T-7 came to life and the plane lurched forward, taxiing to the runway.

"I hope you at least got us some decent weapons, Dogface," the fiery lizard snorted as the plane bounced along, smoke coming out of his nostrils as he did so. "If you didn't, then I swear the first shot I fire is going…"

Shiloh tuned the irritating lizard out and instead turned his head to catch a fleeting glance of the facility that had effectively been his home for the past couple years, burning the image of the whitewashed barracks and grass-covered hillside into his mind. As he looked out the narrow window, it didn't take him long to realize that his squad mates—including his reptilian commander—had stopped talking and were doing the same thing. They wouldn't be seeing this place again for a long time, so it was best to savor it while they could.

At last, the plane had reached the east side of the runway and turned around for a westward-facing takeoff, hiding the base facilities from the view of the young marines. The hum of the engines quickly intensified until they became a resounding roar, a sound which was rapidly followed by the sensation of rapidly increasing speed. Shiloh felt himself slide sideways in his seat, toward the back of the plane, with only the harness to hold him in place. The nose of the plane pitched high into the air as the pilots pulled back on their flight sticks, and the rest of the aircraft and its cargo followed soon thereafter. Shiloh looked out the window behind him at the world beneath him as it steadily grew smaller, until at last, Fort Talon was naught but a speck on the horizon.

As the rest of the soldiers settled in for the several-hour flight ahead, Shiloh rapidly became aware of just how exhausted he was. Not counting the hour or so of sleep he had gotten before the briefing, he had been up for nearly twenty-four hours. His ballistic vest felt surprisingly heavier than usual today, and his aching muzzle from the bottle of alcohol that hit him during the barfight the night before only added his exhaustion, but at least it didn't feel as if his nose was broken anymore. As he listened to the steady whine of the engines as the T-7 soared through the sky, Shiloh found his eyelids grow heavy, and at last, he fell fast asleep…

~oo0oo~

Shiloh woke with a start when his head suddenly smacked roughly against the wall to his right. He wasn't sure how long he had been sleeping, but he was certainly awake now! He looked around the cabin of the aircraft, but to his dismay, his comrades were nowhere to be found and the aircraft was filled with an unnatural darkness despite the fact it was surely daytime. The aircraft pitched violently, and Shiloh turned his head to look out the window to see just what exactly was going on. Had they been hit and everyone bailed without him? That didn't appear to be the case, but the aircraft was undoubtedly going through very dense storm clouds, which explained both the darkness and the turbulence. That still didn't explain where everyone had disappeared to, though.

Shiloh unfastened his harness and reached for his backpack. Since everyone else and their equipment was missing, it could only be assumed that they had gone to the cargo bay and were either preparing to or already had jumped. The aircraft jolted again, this time throwing Shiloh off-balance and he fell to the floor with an undignified sounding crash, catching the attention of both pilots.

"What are you still doing here?" the one on the left, a male pidgeotto morph, exclaimed in surprise.

Shiloh opened his mouth to reply, but realized he didn't entirely know what to say.

"Don't just stand there slack-jawed!" the co-pilot, a female altaria, shrieked as she yanked off her headset. "Your team mates are in the cargo bay getting ready to jump! We're nearly at the drop zone!"

"Okay! I'm going!" Shiloh exclaimed as he leapt to his feet. "Thanks for telling me!"

He quickly hoisted his parachute-laden backpack over his shoulders and tightened the straps as he sprinted through the crew cabin towards the cargo bay. He yanked open the door to the cargo bay and was promptly greeted with a blast of frigid air from the open tail hatch. However, as he stepped into the room, something large and solid smacked him in the side of the head, knocking him roughly to the floor in a daze. But he only stayed down a split second, before jumping up and glaring at what hit him: it was Lieutenant Kamone.

"What the hell, man?" Shiloh demanded angrily, rapidly advancing on the charmeleon who strangely remained standing in place, a dark expression on his face.

Just as Shiloh was reaching for the lizard's shirt, another person grabbed the vaporeon from behind and slammed him into the cargo bay wall, hard, before throwing him to the ground. This time, it was the swampert with the torn head fin who had attacked him.

"Geez, guys! What the hell is wrong with you?" Shiloh exclaimed, looking around the room only to discover that he was surrounded on all sides, everyone glaring at him with unmasked hatred. Never before had he encountered a situation like this. It was almost as if they were going to attack him, but why? What had he done to merit being attacked like this? "Um guys?" Shiloh stammered nervously, "What's going on?"

"End of the line, you treacherous dog," Lieutenant Kamone spat.

"I always knew he was trouble!" Private Polsky added in his distinct nasal-sounding voice as he and several other soldiers slowly advanced on the vaporeon with the same menacing glare.

"Guys," Shiloh stammered, desperately trying to process what exactly was unfolding before him. "If this is a joke, I'm not finding it very funny…"

"No joke, kid," Captain Shepherd said, absolutely no emotion in his voice as he stood between Shiloh and the open tail hatch, watching the unfolding events with a passive look on his face. "I'm sorry, but this is where it ends."

"Ends?" Shiloh choked on his words as the soldiers continued to advance on him, several of them drawing their knives as they did so. "Why? What have I done?"

There was no reply. His would-be assassins were now just ten steps away. Time felt nearly as if it had completely stopped as Shiloh was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread as he began to comprehend what was going on.

Oh God, someone tell me this isn't happening!

Nine steps…

Why are my friends doing this?

Eight steps…

We're all Marines! We're all on the same side…aren't we?

Seven steps…

I've never given them anything short of my best effort!

Six steps…

What have I done to make them hate me enough to murder me in cold blood?

Five steps…

They're close now; it will all be over soon…

Four steps…

NO! Don't give up, Shiloh! Your parents didn't raise you to be a quitter! You have to escape!

Three steps…

…But how? It's hopeless! I'm completely surrounded… Wait, that's it!

Two steps… Shiloh's friends-turned-enemies paused, no doubt preparing to lunge at him, to pin him to the ground and impale him with their knives until no trace of life was left in him—a horrible way to go, now that he thought about it. He could hear blood roaring in his ears and the adrenaline coursing through his body made him hyper-alert and ready to fight. The cornered ratatta will bite the meowth, as they say… They would never see this one coming!

On a silent count of three, the soldiers dove at the vaporeon, but to their surprise, their intended victim abruptly vanished in an explosion of boiling hot steam a mere fraction of a second before they reached him. Shiloh landed from his Scald-assisted jump several feet away from the tangled mass of assailants, and immediately turned to run. Heh, that actually worked! He smiled at his rather ingenious use of his move pool, before someone reached out from behind and yanked him down hard by his tail.

Shiloh looked down, or rather behind him; somehow the swampert with the shredded head fin had managed to react to his sudden leap and had pulled him down by the tail. But the swampert was still partially ensnared by the pile of morphs on his back, and he didn't have a good grip on the vaporeon's tail. Shiloh could hear the pawsteps of the other troopers rapidly approaching and quickly wrenched the fin of his tail free from the swampert's grasp. He scampered away just in time to avoid a pair of diving tackles from both a zorua and a luxio, then ducked under a third tackle from a bayleef, rolling the grass type cleanly off his back without losing too much of his forward momentum.

Now there was only daylight in front of him. He just had to dive out of the open tail hatch, and he was home free—provided the other soldiers didn't jump out after him. To that end, the thick gray clouds outside would likely work to his favor—they surely wouldn't follow him through a storm just to settle a grudge! Shiloh was now only several steps from the open hatch to the thick gray clouds outside and freedom.

He crouched down for a running dive, when… THWACK! The stock of someone's gun caught him square in the forehead, stopping all of his forward momentum and knocking him to the floor on his back, stunned. Despite his hazy vision, he could make out the form of Lieutenant Kamone standing over him with his rifle in paw.

"Consider that your dishonorable discharge, Dogface!" the lizard spat hatefully, kicking Shiloh in the ribcage, winding the vaporeon.

Through all the tears, Shiloh could make out a shadowy second figure standing over him which bore a slight resemblance to Kamone and made him wonder if he was seeing double. This was soon disproved as the figure bent down and clasped his paw around Shiloh's throat; the sudden static coming into contact with Shiloh's fur clearly identified the mystery morph as an electric-type of some sort. The morph hoisted the stunned and now at least partially paralyzed vaporeon off the ground and brought him up to look him in the face. It was at that moment Shiloh's vision cleared enough for him to look into the eyes of the morph who was throttling him. It was Captain Shepherd.

"I have to give you credit, kid," the ampharos smiled coldly as he slowly began to tighten his grip on the helpless vaporeon's neck. "You are officially the unluckiest morph I've ever met. You had the chance to escape, but oh, so close!"

"Why…are you… doing this to me?" Shiloh wheezed, fighting for the air his body so desperately cried for.

Captain Shepherd leaned his head close to the vaporeon's ear. "Simple," he whispered in an eerily soft voice. "We know all about you."

"Huh?"

"We know that you were raised up to sympathize with those retched humans," the ampharos continued. "We know you and your family used to supplies to them."

"Big deal," Shiloh coughed; the edges of his vision were now beginning to gray. "It was just… food and medicine. You could argue…that I was just…extending their…lives…so they could…entertain morphs… like you… longer…"

"Nonetheless," Shepherd smiled coldly, "we can't have degenerate beings such as you around. It's a threat to national security, and frankly, we can't have you corrupting the pure and mighty blood of we superior pokemorphs."

The ampharos loosened his grip, allowing Shiloh's pleading lungs to draw a ragged breath of air. The vaporeon's vision rapidly cleared, but what he saw next made his blood run cold. Shepherd reached down with his free paw, drew his magnum pistol and pointed it at the water-type's chest. At this close of range, there was no chance that Shiloh's vest would be able to stop a .357—it would pass through one side for certain, then likely ricochet off the back of his vest and around inside his body.

BANG! He felt an incredible pain in his chest and it suddenly felt as if he couldn't breathe. He looked down; blood was now gushing from a wound in his chest and spilling down the front of his uniform. He looked back up into Captain Shepherd's steely gaze.

"Goodbye," the ampharos said coldly, and gave the vaporeon a rough shove backwards.

The next thing Shiloh knew, he was plummeting like a ragdoll through the clouds, watching the dark form of the T-7 speeding away…