A/N: to my anonymous reviewer ― thanks for the review; sorry I couldn't answer you personally. Military-type details are whatcha get when a bunch of your friends are active or ex-military *grin*.

Chapter 6

Ripper stood to the side, watching as the vampire recruits practiced their hand-to-hand combat under the watchful eyes of Special Forces instructors. He had been in the midst of his own training routine not long before, but he wanted to see for himself how all the others looked. And, for the most part, he was pleased.

Spike had sent in a total of thirteen other vampires, mostly Childer, except for four Masters and the one old Aurelian minion. It had taken a while, but the human instructors had finally accepted the fact that the female Master and Childe who'd come with the last group were just as powerful, physically, as their male counterparts. They hadn't believed him at first when he'd told them that the "packaging" didn't affect their capabilities, but only their preferred manner of hunting. They believed him now, though.

So there were fourteen of them, all told. One of the Masters that had come had proven totally unsuitable; he had challenged Ripper at every turn, vying for Mastery of the Nest, until the Aurelian Master had been forced to stake the young upstart. Townsend hadn't been very happy about that execution, but he'd accepted it, since it was a fait accompli. All the Childer had been chipped, along with the youngest of the Master vamps; true to his word, Fielding had had the doctors keep those vampires sedated an additional twenty-four hours, making it look like Tony had recovered much faster than all the others. Their healing had also been slowed by giving them animal blood—pig, that had been—instead of human; it had been given by stomach tube, so they'd had no taste of it and wouldn't know the difference. The humans' duplicity had made Ripper smile; he was now beyond challenge, and Tony's place was firmly established.

Thinking of his young lieutenant now, however, made Ripper frown. There had only been twelve humans pre-trained for the handler positions, and Ripper had had Fielding assign them to the others; this left both Tony and him without a human companion, although Sergeant Downey still brought them their blood. It was a problem, one that Ripper wasn't sure how they would solve. As Master of the nest, he didn't have to have one; he would do more good, be more useful, staying here at the base to keep control over all the others. It wasn't fair to Tony, though.

The younger Aurelian was doing superlatively. He could win his matches against any of the others, even at two-to-one odds. He could even successfully take on any three of the weaker Childer, and had developed excellent control against human opponents. He rarely got zapped by his chip anymore, as compared to the others, who even now could occasionally be seen to wince from the electrical jolt. And he moved with almost human confidence when they trained outside in the sun, now.

Their new uniforms had arrived, and Ripper approved of them very much. To the eye, they looked like what the humans wore, but they had a thin layer of flexible Kevlar fused to the inside, making it much less likely that they could be torn and expose the wearer to deadly sunlight. The only oddity in them was the attached hoods which could cover their heads completely, including a roll-down face shield, on their issued jackets. They also had separate hoods, which could be tucked into their shirts instead, and lightweight, flesh-toned leather gloves, matched to each individual's complexion, that went well up their forearms under their shirt sleeves to protect their hands and wrists. Their combat helmets had detachable full-face shields, for wear in daylight hours, and they had necrotinted polycarbonate goggles and wrap-around sunglasses for when the face shields were inconvenient.

And, of course, well-made heavy leather boots.

Oh, yes, they looked almost like standard military on the outside, but they wore no rank insignia, no unit patches, and only their preferred "call-names" on their uniforms. Their human counterparts were similarly unmarked.

"They're looking good, Master Ripper," Major Fielding broke into the vampire's musing as he walked over. "Do you think that any of them would be ready for a field trial? Some of the brass are getting a little impatient to see some results. The colonel is stalling them, but he sent me to see what you think."

Ripper stood beside the major, watching his unit a few minutes longer before speaking. "The only one I'd trust right now without an active chip would be Tony. He doesn't have a handler yet, though." He paused, pursing his lips before slowly continuing. "He likes Sergeant Downey, Major; you could send him out with Tony. He's used to us and understands our needs, even if he wasn't picked for active participation. He's combat-trained, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is," Fielding said thoughtfully. "He's had two tours in Iraq, and one in Afghanistan; he was assigned to a training rotation to give him a break. I don't know if he'd be willing to go back into that mess now."

"He will go, if that's where you send Tony," Ripper said without any hesitation. "A good Pet always follows his Master willingly."

Fielding looked at the vampire beside him, but held his tongue. Downey wasn't any vampire's "Pet," but it would be a waste of breath to contradict Ripper. Some views just wouldn't be shaken from him. "I'll see what he has to say, then; why don't you go have Tony draw the appropriate gear? Stores will have his orders, so they'll know what he'll need."

"All right," Ripper agreed thoughtfully. This would be very good for Tony's standing here, he realized: the first one deemed ready to go and fight. Tony would be thrilled to be selected, also. "He will be ready whenever he is needed." He tipped his head briefly to the major, then went and pulled the younger Aurelian out of the training exercise, so he could eat and draw his gear. They would not have to wait for him.

~oOo~

They waited to board the plane until it was dark. Tony was practically bouncing with excitement, causing Ben Downey to smile. It was like watching a kid going for a treat, instead of someone going into a hot, dry meat-grinder. He should have his head examined, the sergeant thought ruefully. Here he'd had the perfect opportunity to stay at home for a while; instead, he'd jumped at the chance to go along with this supernatural… teenager! Yeah, he was certifiable, for sure.

For all his excitement—he'd never flown before, even as a human—Tony was well under control. His escort carried the remote that would disable his chip; that would be done once they'd reached their destination, lest he forget himself through boredom, or annoyance at some petty official. They would be met when the plane landed, and they would be escorted to meet the CO of the unit they'd be working with. Tony wondered just what the humans had been told about them, if they knew what he was. He threw a quick, worried look at the cooler that held his travel rations, and just as quickly masked any sign of concern. He had an image to uphold, after all.

He hadn't been told what their destination was and hadn't asked. It just hadn't been important then; now, he wished he had.

The plane was huge and cavernous; sounds echoed loudly inside, despite the cargo it was filled with. There were some very uncomfortable seats near the front for them, along the bare metal sides of the cargo bay, and he quietly sat next to Downey, watching as a crewman secured his cooler. He would have to drink his blood cold if he got hungry on the flight; he shuddered at the thought.

"You okay, Tony?" Downey asked, feeling the vampire's slight motion.

"What? Oh, yeah; just contemplating a cold dinner," Tony answered somewhat obliquely. Downey grimaced in understanding and said no more as the engines, which had been idling, roared to life, making conversation impossible as the aircraft taxied into position for takeoff.

~o~

A long, noisy eternity later, the plane finally settled to the ground with a bounce. He could smell the difference in the air, the heat and sand, and the strange foods used by the humans here. Tony wondered idly how different it would make their blood taste… But he wasn't going to do that, not indiscriminately, at least. He looked over at Downey in concern. "You realize that I might have to hunt, if we get caught without supplies," he began, but the sergeant just nodded.

"Yeah; I thought of that," he said slowly. "How much control do you have, Tony? Can you eat without, you know, killing someone?"

"Oh, yeah," Tony replied, surprised by the question. He'd expected outright revulsion from his human companion. "Master Ripper an' me, we actually used to prefer to 'snack and run,' as he called it. No messy corpses to get everyone upset and start hunting us. You know: you take a bit from several people; they get off on it if you do it right, and most times don't even realize that they've been bitten. Why do you ask?"

Downey avoided the question momentarily, asking another instead. "You always go for the neck, like in the movies?"

Shaking his head, Tony answered, "Nah. That's good for a quick feed, or if you mean to kill; it's safer—slower, see—from an arm. Or a leg, but that's something else, you know, like during sex."

"O-kay. So, if we get caught out somewhere, you could, like, feed a bit from, say, me? Without killing me or hurting me bad?"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't hurt you, Downey," Tony asserted, puzzled. "I take good care of my possessions." That ended the matter as far as the vampire was concerned.

Downey, however, looked surprised. One of his possessions? Was that how Tony thought of him? He tried to get mad about it, but gave that up as useless. Tony was a vampire; that was just how he looked at the world: Something either was, or was not, his. Period. And it could be a lot worse, Downey realized, if Tony didn't think of him as his. It could be very, very bad, in fact…

"Everybody out," a crewman called, breaking into their thoughts suddenly, as he unstrapped Tony's now-empty cooler. "Hey, what happened to this?" the man asked suspiciously as he felt how much lighter it was now than when he'd loaded it.

"Sorry," Downey said before Tony could give anything away. "He has special meals—a new diet, y'know? That was his chow, and he couldn't miss a meal or it would screw things up. We'll hang onto that for the trip home—whenever that is."

"Yeah, well, okay, I guess," the man said reluctantly, passing the cooler over to Downey. "It's probably the last taste of home you'll have for a while, so I hope you enjoyed it. Welcome to the Sandbox, guys: Your own private preview of Hell." Then he turned and left them to make their own way out of the aircraft.

Tony pulled his hood up and slipped on the cloth headdress that disguised the necessary protection. He pulled the veil over the lower portion of his face, looking now like an odd cross between a ninja and a Bedouin warrior. Special wraparound sunglasses shielded his eyes from deadly sunshine, and gloves covered his hands. Not black, this outfit was all in standard desert camouflage to blend in a bit better with the rest of the troops. The aircrew looked at him a bit oddly as he and Sergeant Downey deplaned, carrying their duffel bags, but no one made any untoward comments. Even the locals ignored his odd dress.

"Downey and Franklinsen?" a soldier asked, shifting away from a Humvee to approach them.

Tony paused a beat, but continued on at Downey's side when his human just nodded in acknowledgment. "This way; the major's waiting for you in HQ," the young stranger said, turning back towards his vehicle. He didn't offer to help with their baggage—not that they needed any help—but it still irritated Tony until he realized that Downey seemed to take this treatment for granted. The sergeant threw his bag into the back of the Humvee, then took the empty cooler from Tony and put that in also. Tony nodded in understanding, then threw his own bag in and climbed into the back seat, while Downey rode shotgun.

"Good flight in?" the driver asked, but he didn't really seem to be paying them much attention. Instead, he watched the people around the area, though none were that terribly close to the landing strip itself.

"Not bad; just long and noisy," Downey answered for them both, but Tony noticed that he, too, was carefully keeping an eye on the locals.

"Having much trouble around here?" Tony ventured to ask, keeping his voice soft and neutral intentionally.

The driver glanced in his rear-view mirror to answer, then froze for an instant. He could see nothing in the rear seat!

"Special suit," Downey quickly said, realizing the problem. "Doesn't reflect in mirrors; bends light rays, or something. Something new they're trying, to fake out video surveillance."

"Shit," the driver breathed, then softly laughed at himself. "Works pretty good, if you ask me! What'll they think of next?

"Anyway," he went on to answer Tony's question,"We've had the odd mortar attack, the occasional suicide bomber. Biggest problem is the IEDs; the sniffer dogs can't always find 'em in time. So we watch the civilians, t' see if anyone's watching to see us go boom."

Tony looked at his travelling companion. "I could maybe help with that, a little," he said, then shook his head. "It'd have to be at night, thought; this 'new gear' might interfere too much."

"We'll see what the CO has to say, first," Downey said decisively, not wanting the vampire to say too much in front of someone not 'read in' on their mission.

"Sure thing, Sarge," Tony said, masking his own laughter. The rest of the ride was quiet, the humans keeping a careful eye out for any possible attack. Tony scented the air, trying to sort out all the new smells to be found in the narrow streets they drove through. He thought he caught many scent-trails of fear and anger, but he couldn't be sure, covered as they were by the smell of their transport.

At last they pulled up outside a moderately sized concrete building with sandbags stacked against each wall that Tony could see. Sentries stood guard at the door, but the local people still came too close for comfort, in the vampire's opinion, especially with children darting in and out of the colorful throng. It would be only too easy for the sentries to be fatally distracted.

The driver cut off the engine; this time, he helped them with their gear, lifting out the cooler and carrying it to just inside the door. Tony and Downey followed, leaving their bags beside the empty box. The hallway was a bit wider here, as if for just such a purpose.

"Major's this way, if you'll follow me," the soldier said, heading off without waiting for a response from his former passengers.

They were taken to an office occupied by a harried-looking man in a major's uniform sitting behind a cluttered desk, holding a low-voiced conversation on a sat-phone. He looked up briefly and waved a hand vaguely in their direction, but paid them no further attention. "Yes, sir, I understand… They just got here, General… I'll see to it… Yes, Sir…" he said, then finally hung up the phone and took a good, long look at the two who stood before him. At last, he spoke. "You have quite the impressive record, Sergeant, but you… What makes you so special, Franklinsen, to warrant such close attention from on high? Special needs, special quarters, the sergeant here as your personal babysitter… Just what am I to make of you?"

"My name is Tony, Major… Chandler," Tony said, reading the name from the human's uniform. "If you have a secure room—with no windows—I will tell you. Sir," he added belatedly, remembering what Ripper had said about not making the human officers look bad in front of their men.

"No windows, huh?" Major Chandler mused, intrigued despite himself. "We have that, but it's cramped."

"This won't take long, sir," Downey interjected, throwing a cautioning look at Tony.

"This way, then," Chandler said, rising from his desk and heading towards the rear of the building. The room he took them to wasn't all that small, but it had no windows, as requested. It was obviously an interrogation room, furnished with only a table and two chairs. Downey looked over at his charge in concern, but Tony just grinned.

"It's okay, Ben," the vampire said, using the sergeant's given name for the first time. "No one is listening in on us. I'd know," he added, looking back at Chandler. "What did they tell you about me, Major?" he began.

"You're some sorta special 'secret weapon' is all," the major grumbled, finding himself irritated that he couldn't see Franklinsen's face under the odd head covering.

"Ah," Tony breathed, then chuckled. "Yes, leave it to the underlings to have to explain the difficult stuff. I guess you could call me a secret weapon, Major, but I'm actually more of a secret being. I've got much better senses than your usual troops: Better vision, much sharper sense of smell. Plus I'm much stronger—much, much stronger than your men. The downside is that my skin can not be exposed to any sunlight, either directly or through a window, and I have… different dietary needs. In fact, I'll need to speak to your medical director to obtain what I need; I have a letter of authorization with me for that, sir." As he spoke, Tony was removing his sunglasses and head-covering; then he pulled back his hood. He knew what Chandler saw: A tall young man, not too muscular, with dark blond hair and frank gray eyes. He looked almost Scandinavian—until he morphed into gameface. He waited for Chandler to recover his composure—Downey had kept him from drawing his service weapon at the change.

"What the hell are you?!" the major finally managed to gasp, standing frozen in place.

"I'm a vampire, Major," Tony answered calmly. "The sergeant is human; he's been working with me for the last two months, along with some others of my kind. We're all volunteers in military service, sort of an auxiliary unit. We're supposed to be used as an addition to Special Forces patrols, for night-time reconnaissance and infiltration work in difficult situations. I think we might also be useful in finding your hidden explosives, if we knew roughly what they smelled like. Explosives have changed a lot since I was alive, and I didn't really know what those smelled like back then, anyway."

"When you were…" Chandler's voice trailed off briefly; then he gathered himself once more. "You said special dietary needs; that means I'm supposed to believe you eat blood only?" He couldn't quite keep a sneer of derision out of his voice, but Tony decided to let that pass.

"Since joining the military, I've limited myself to bagged blood," he answered carefully. "I'm old enough to have control, Major; it's only the newly turned that are ravening beasts, and then only if their Sire—the vampire who turned them—isn't there to take them in hand. If necessary, I've got good enough control to just snack and run—take some from several donors, leaving them alive and healthy when I go. I can eat animal blood, but it usually tastes awful. I consume three units of human whole blood daily when I'm active, or three units of packed RBCs and two units of fresh-frozen plasma. And I can eat human food, just to keep up a cover, although it does nothing to sustain me and has very little flavor. Ask Sergeant Downey, sir; he's been seeing to my meals since I joined up. Oh, and I really don't like it cold," he added with a smirk of his own.

The major just stared at him in shock, finally noticing that this tall blond rarely breathed, except when speaking, and stood very still. He jerked his gaze over to the sergeant when Downey cleared his throat.

"Sir, all that aside, he really can be useful. We'll just have to warn any unit we're embedded with to expect… inconsistencies, sir. And he can go longer between meals if necessary, out in the field."

Chandler groped for one of the chairs in the room, watching in shock as the bumpy and ridged features of …Tony… seemed to melt back to human normality. "He do that often?" he finally found the composure to ask, looking Downey in the eyes.

The sergeant was unaffected by the vampire's changes; he'd seen them often enough. "Usually only if he's very angry or upset, or about to kill something. His eyes are good indicators of his moods; they'll change to yellow sometimes, until he gets a grip on himself again. And he can just drop his fangs, instead of going into full gameface—that's what that other 'look' is called. He really does have very good control, Major; humans are a vampire's natural prey, so it's remarkable that he can go among us without there being a slaughter. Think lions and gazelles, sir; that's them, and us."

"And I'm willing to be used against my country's enemies, as needed," Tony added calmly, still watching the major. "I have gear that'll let me go out in daylight safely, as you saw, even though I'm at my best after sundown. Any men you assign to me will be safe, Major Chandler; I swear that I won't kill them, or force them into anything they don't want to allow. I may even prove of some use in questioning captives, as I have a bit of thrall."

"He can sometimes make someone think that they want to do whatever he suggests, sir," Downey explained at the major's questioning glance. "He's not dangerous to us; he's not all that strong with it. It's actually a fairly rare ability among vampires—despite what the movies would have you believe."

"I see. And you really are willing to actively work with us?" Chandler asked, not sure if he should believe this or not. "Why?"

"Because my Clan Master asked me to," Tony calmly replied. "Clan—family—is everything. It was enough for me, at least. And it'll protect my humans."

"Don't ask, sir," Downey said with a chuckle at the odd look that Chandler gave him at that. "It's just how vamps view the world: things are either theirs, or not theirs. And it's much better to be theirs, than not."

The major was silent for several seconds, then visibly shook himself. "You said you could possibly smell any nearby explosives?" he asked, skipping over the things he couldn't quite swallow yet.

"Yes, sir," Tony answered, looking happier now that this human appeared to accept him at his word. "I just need an example of what to smell for."

Chandler nodded. "Wait here; I'll be right back." He rose from his seat and left the two alone in the interrogation room, wondering what was up now.

A short while later, Chandler returned, a captain carrying a heavy metal box with him. The second man set his burden down on the table and opened it. "This is one of the more common types of IEDs around here," he said, stepping back. "It's had the detonator removed for safety; we haven't had a chance to dispose of this, yet."

Tony looked into the box and took a deep breath, then looked over at Chandler in dismay. "Major, I smelled something very like this when we came into this building. It seemed to originate in several places…"

The major paled. "Show us where!" he ordered sharply.

Tony exchanged glances with Downey, but pulled his hood up and donned his protective gear once more. "Okay," he said, heading for the door, trailed by the shocked bomb disposal tech. "Best call for more help, though. I won't know what to do with 'em once I find 'em for you."

Then he was outside in the sun once more, his senses fully extended in the search for the bombs he'd unknowingly detected.

He stood still for several moments, his head high. He reminded Downey of nothing so much as a dog, searching for game spoor. And then he moved to the right, past the sentries, his head cocked slightly to one side. He continued on about eight feet, then stopped and pointed to the sandbags. "There's something in here," he said, turning his head back towards the major, who'd followed him out. "Got some spray-paint or something? I'll mark 'em as I find 'em. This isn't the only spot that smells like this."

"Sir?" the EOD captain asked, confused now.

Chandler just shook his head. "Go and get one of the dogs for confirmation before we tear down these bags, Captain. And bring some spray-paint. Unfortunately, he's probably right about what we'll find. I just hope no one's out there with a detonator, watching us."

Tony froze a moment, then cocked his head once more, stepping just a bit closer to the sandbags. He stepped away after a few moments, his head high again, and turning slowly, as he tested the air once more; then he started towards the rear of the building. "Downey, come with me a minute," he ordered, but he didn't stop moving.

The sergeant looked at the major and shrugged with a wry grin, but he followed after the vampire. As he rounded the corner of the building, he stopped in shock, for Tony had a local man down on the ground, his hand over the man's mouth.

"Here, hold him and keep him quiet for me; I need his outer robe," Tony said, easily controlling the man's struggles. "You can apologize to him later for me; I smelled someone familiar, off in the crowd a little way. The major's right: Someone's watching the building; same scent is mixed in with the explosives. The dogs can find the rest of the bombs; I'm gonna go catch the maker."

"Tony…" Downey started to protest, but the vampire cut him off.

"Ben, either hold this guy, or I'll just snap his neck; it doesn't matter to me either way. I will not let you get blown up when I can stop it so easy."

Downey didn't hesitate then; he'd known Tony long enough to believe him. He took the small remote from his pocket and flipped a covered switch. "Your chip is off. Try not to kill your target; they'll want to question him." Then he helped the young vampire get his camouflage on—the unfortunate local's robe—and held the man while he watched Tony vanish into the crowd.

It was laughably easy for Tony then. He went around the far corner of the building, blending in with the crowd that had gathered to watch the crazy Americans. He walked right up to his target, who stood back well away from the intended blast zone. Removing his sunglasses, carefully keeping the sun behind him, he jostled the man slightly, noting the small black box he held, ready to grab it if the man resisted him. As the man turned to see who had bumped into him, his eyes were caught by Tony's. He made no effort to resist after that, allowing Tony to take the detonator from him and throw an arm around his shoulders. It was a simple matter, then, of just walking the man back towards the headquarters building.

Tony kept a firm grip on him, for he knew that his control was most likely to slip now. "Major Chandler," he called before they got too close, for the soldiers were very agitated and likely to shoot first and ask questions later, at the moment.

The major swung around, trying to locate who had called him. He saw two local men struggling silently on the edge of the crowd of gawkers, but these were scattering away from the danger zone, seeing only two of their own scuffling. Nothing to start a riot over, here…

Several soldiers started over to break up the fight, but the major heard the vampire's voice shouting, "Call off your men!" The soldiers paused in confusion, glancing at the major, who now cautiously advanced with his men. Suddenly he realized that he recognized the head covering of one of the grappling men. How did the vampire…?

Tony hissed in pain as he inadvertently turned just enough for sunlight to hit his unprotected eyes. He pushed his captive at the soldiers with a curse. "Here, you hold him; it's your job, not mine. I caught the bastard for you," he growled as he pulled out his sunglasses once more and covered his eyes. "Damn, that hurt!" he complained to an astonished Major Chandler. "Oh, yeah; here, he had this in his hand," he added, passing the detonator over to his temporary CO.

"And you went after that man because…?" Chandler cautiously held the detonator, looking from it to the vampire in confusion.

"That's whose scent was all over the explosives, and I could smell 'em on him; he made 'em," Tony simply said, then started back towards the building. He froze as weapons were aimed at him.

"Where's Sergeant Downey?" Chandler demanded, thinking the worst.

"He's around back, hanging onto the guy I got this robe offa. He'd probably like to get it back without any holes, and I'd like to let Ben know that I got the suspect. Without killing him, I might add, although that would 'a been a whole lot easier. Lousy human tried to bite me. Me!" Tony complained in outrage.

Chandler stared at him in disbelief, then waved his men off. He wasn't sure yet, just what this Tony was, but he was sure of one thing: The man (?) was definitely crazy.