Chapter 6
Fight Square
~ O ~
Patrols came and went. Soldiers arrived and left, some in body bags. Lavrov stalked the base for weeks at a time, and then he'd jump a transport and disappear, only to reappear later more petty and demanding than ever before. Summer turned to autumn, and autumn turned cold. Winter had arrived with a fearsome blast. A snowstorm dumped two feet of snow in a single night. In the morning the dog boys ran out, forming into their packs and began a vast snowball fight. Their laughter and howls of delight uplifting to everyone who heard them.
Hand called a meeting and ceased circuit patrols for the time being, they would only visit the nearby towns and villages. After seeing the chaos below he called off all standard duties, except emergency staff, for the day, the base was to enjoy itself. Nix volunteered to act as day-chief, but Hand said he'd hold down the fort so that everyone had a chance to go make snowmen.
After the meeting the three senior sergeants stood on western 'wing', the patio was being shoveled by a dog boy so desperate to go play he was whimpering ceaselessly. Nix looked at the dog boy, Docket, from 2nd Platoon. He elbowed Ungar and nodded to the dog boy.
Ungar looked around, "Go on, Docket. Go play."
He yipped excitedly and bolted from the patio. A minute later, he ran full speed from the main entrance and with an impressive flying tackle plowed Igual into a huge snow mound. The two began a fearsome, though playful, wrestling match.
Nix smiled and supped his pipe, Ungar smoke a cigarette, Bluebird did not smoke. The three had been discuss their favorite topic of the moment, Lavrov.
"He's an ass," Ungar said definitely, "Though that Darkcloak is good. Real good."
"Yeah he is, some of the stuff I've seen him do," Bluebird said shaking her head, "… well, we're lucky to have him."
Ungar stared at the playing dog boys below. Roman was leading a success advance against his head dog boy, Judge. Roman's pack moved with support fire from Red's snowball launching team. Packed snow flew with abandon. "Check out Roman."
Nix smiled as he watched, impressed with his tactic acumen and courage, "And that's why he's in charge."
"What's Lavrov's problem anyways?" asked Bluebird, "That creep is always skulking around, sniffing for trouble."
Nix supped on his pipe a few times, "I don't think he's got a problem, as such. Firstly, I think he's up to something. I just don't know what, yet. Secondly, he just doesn't understand us. He wants us to be like all those other, pretty little spit-and-polish, by-the-book regiments back in Chi-Town or Missouri. What he doesn't understand is that we have to make do with what we've got," he waved with his pipe to the wide open around the base, "… a whole lot of nothing."
~ O ~
Once a month Fort Wash's dog boy soldiers had a fighting match. They did it keep in fighting shape, to evaluate the pack hierarchy, and to enjoy kicking, punching and beating the hell out of each other. It took place outside when the weather was good and in vehicle shed #3 when it was not, like tonight. The training mats would be brought up from the gymnasium and laid side by side, making a square about twenty feet at a side. The maintenance shed rang with barks, howls, and yells. It stank of motor oil, hydraulic fluid, body odor, and dog breath.
The human staff did not usually participate, though big Nix could sometimes be talked into going a few rounds with a dog boy. The humans did however bet the odds and gambled on their favorite fighters. Roman, wearing only black knee-length trousers and a black leather belt, was a safe gamblers favorite.
The greyhound stood unmoving, staring at his yelling opponent. Polo was big, big and healthy, possessing the leanness or tightness of body that a dog boy with years of combat experience develops.
The labrador bounced around, throwing mock punches and taunting Roman, "Come on, skinny! What you waiting for?"
Roman's fists were clinched at his side, his blue eyes narrow and intense.
"I can't believe a stick like you thinks he can take me, a real dog boy," Polo said, slapping his broad chest.
"Why do they call you 'One-Punch Roman? Is it because that all it takes to put you down …" Polo suddenly lunged, aiming to tackle the greyhound. Roman stepped aside and lightly pushed the new trooper him past. The crowd hooted with delight as Polo stumbled.
Polo spun around snarling with anger. Two, three, four times Polo lunged and Roman moved lithely out of the way, pushing or pulling the younger dog boy away from him.
"Come on! Fight me!" Polo roared, getting angry as the crowd mocked his efforts. 'Fresh meat! Fresh Meat! Fresh Meat!' they chanted at him, or worse, made insulting little puppy-dog barking sounds at him.
Roman stepped forward so suddenly and launched a blindingly fast punch straight at Polo's muzzle. The crack was heard over the jeering crowd. Polo paused for a moment, hands clasped to the nose, then he fell back on his butt, rolling around, and howling with pain.
"That's why they call me One-Punch," Roman snarled, towering over the floored dog boy, "'cause that's all it takes!"
The crowd roared with delight. Money exchanged hands. Ban pushed into the ring, helping the injured Labrador to the his feet and walking him out of the circle to where the other company dog boy medics waited, being usually gentle with the weeping rookie.
Roman turned around and held up his fist, surprising large considering he was so skinny, and glared at the crowd. "Anyone else want a taste of 'Roman's number 1: fuck your face'?" he asked.
Over the whooping and hollering a deep voice called out, "I'll have a go."
The crowd Oooooohhhhhedwith excitement as they saw Fabian walk into the circle, they had never fought before, this was to be a good match. Roman was tall and skinny but his speed and intensity made him a fine boxer, and many had come to fear his famous one-punch. The massive Saint Bernard was a towering monument of strength, a brawler more than a boxer. He was also undefeated in the fight-square.
Roman grinned, liking a challenge, "Ha! Alright!"
"I ain't no pup and I've never lost, you know," Fabian boomed.
"I know. Hell, you might win again tonight … but I'll make damn sure you don't want to fight me again."
Sergeant Ungar, ringmaster for the evening, called the match, "My furry friends, what a surprise this evening! Roman has accepted a challenge from Fabian, our very own personal super-heavyweight-champion!" The dog boys clamored happily at the unexpected match-up. Roman was more a medium-weight fighter, Fabian was well outside his usually opponents.
"Roman's gonna have to watch himself, Fabian looks hungry and a greyhound snack looks to be on the menu!"
The dog boys laughed and clapped, elbowed and shoved to get the best views.
Ungar paused for dramatic effort, taking his time to look left, then right, then yelled, "Have at it boys!"
Roman launched forward, fists up - feigning left, right, then left again, using his speed to force Fabian into the defensive stance. The greyhound leapt right, flying around Fabian's left side, and launched a massive right hook, cracking the saint bernard in the eye. Roman's famous one-punch would have floored anyone else, but Fabian was simply too big to go down in one punch. Though even he, and his three hundred and eighty pounds of bulk and muscle, stumbled.
Roman was on him in heartbeat, throwing three hard punches at Fabian's face and head. Fabian, now wary of Roman's speed and agility, aimed to remove that advantage and grappled his around the waist. The greyhound nearly squeezed out of the wrestling hold by ramming both elbows into the saint bernard's neck. He was rewarded by being slammed muzzle first in the mat.
Though the fight never left Roman, he roared and kicked and bucked, the match was over quickly once he was on the mat. Fabian weathering attacks the split his lips, rocked his teeth in their sockets, and numbed his brain from the force of their blow. He used his massive strength to force Roman onto his back, then sat on his chest, took both his skinny wrists in one massive hand, and pounded the greyhound senseless with the other.
"Whoaaa, Fabian! Don't kill the corporal!" shouted Ungar, rushing forward intervening.
Ban was there a moment later pulling Fabian off of the semi-conscience greyhound. The little terrier shoved the saint bernard, who was nearly twice his height, towards the medic's table. Fabian stumbled away and slipped. Hands shot out to catch him and get him back onto his feet. With the help of Tito, Ban half-carried, half-dragged Roman to the first-aid table.
It was important that they took care of the injured. While Captain Hand didn't particularly agree with the fight-square, he let it happen because it kept his pack hard-edged. He threatened after Fireteeth, of third-team, lost an eye that he'd band them from continuing if any more serious injuries occurred. The three psi-hound medics, Ban, Keys, and Mallard, took special care of the wounded and the ringmasters often stopped the fights before any serious injuries could occur.
Ringmaster Ungar called the next match, "Great fight boys! Really great. Let's hear it for Roman and Fabian!" The crowed exploded with cheer, clapping and whooping loudly.
"Well, tonight we have the rematch everyone has been waiting for," Ungar rubbed his hands together gleefully and with a showman's flair throwing them wide he yelled, "… Red versus OAK!!"
The assembled dog boys howled and barked in even more excitement. This particular match up always got the crowed worked up. Red and Oak had shipped into the company together, though they were from different training units, and quickly struck up a strong friendship. Red was iconicly powerful and with his recent promotion had something to prove. Oak, ugly, top-heavy, obscenely strong, and down-right mean, hated to lose.
"Corporal Red, won last month's match-up, breaking Private Oak's three match winning streak. Will Oak get his revenge, or will big Red prove to be too much for our muscled meat-head?" Ungar shouted, as the two stood on opposite sides of the fight-square, flexing and snarling.
"Ready, ready … have at it boys!"
~ O ~
Nix watched as the big dog boys race straight at each other and collide with car crash force. It was like watching two titans battle it out. He neither clapped nor cheered, feeling that it would have been inappropriate to be seen encouraging one dog boy over another. Favoritism was an easy way to destroy a packs bound. That said, he always enjoyed watching these two brawl. He always liked Oak, like a blunt and violent tool, the muscle-bound thug was ideally suited for heavy infantry duty. Red on the other hand, he had high hopes for Red. A thinker with courage, he could make something of himself in this Man's army. With a few more years' experience he could be a dog boy sergeant, no easy task to achieve considering they were thought of as expendable animals. It was rare for psi-hounds to be elevated in rank, only truly special creatures with inborn leadership qualities ever made it.
Roman should have made sergeant years ago.
Thinking about Roman made Nix frown; he had held him back long enough, out of fear of losing his favor hound. It wasn't fair. He didn't think of dog boys as smart man-shaped animals, rather as mutants canines birthed from man's great mind. They were the Children of Man. In his mind they had souls, and therefore were living beings. They were proud, selfless defenders of Humanity and they deserved respect and fairer treatment. Not citizenship, no, they were still mutants afterall, but fairer treatment and rewards consummate to skill and service. He would see to getting Roman his promotion.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced round, Captain Hand. The officer was watching the fight with a keen eye and after a few more moments he directed Nix away with a nod of his head.
They walked in silence for a long while, the roaring sound of the fight-square fading quickly. After a while the only sound was of boot heels thumping the metal decking. Suddenly, Hand pulled him up short. The captain glanced both ways down the corridor, looking worried.
"Bad news, Simon," Hand said.
"What?"
"I just got word…" he seemed to be struggling, " … I've heard."
"Arn, what's the issue?"
"I just got word. We're being displaced."
Nix stared in frank disbelief.
"Two months we'll be back at Fort Lone Star."
Nix shook his head, "Any particular reason behind this nonsense?"
"War, Simon. War."
~ O ~
Nix had gathered all the non-commissioned officers in the lounge of the NCO's ward-n-quarters. It was a tight fit, nearly fifty men and women sitting, standing or leaning around the room. Nix stood at the center of the half-circle, arms-crossed, looking at the floor.
He was not looking forward to having this conversation. Even knowing Hand was giving the same talk to the officers and administration staff at this every moment did not help. The same talk would not be held with the dog boys – they ranked so low no decisions were ever discussed with them, even out of basic courtesy.
Nix raised a hand and the murmuring slowing died away.
When it had, he looked up, his eyes wandering from face to face – Malchus, Ungar, Gisco, Moy, Dysart, Blunt the slightly-mad munitions officer, Reneto, Skaklad, Tanner, Darkcloak, and all the others waiting for him to begin. Bluebird, watching him.
"Afternoon. I know you're all busy, so I'll be quick and to the point."
He cleared his throat, paused for a moment, "Fort Wash in no longer an interest of the Coalition States or the Administrator of Lone Star State."
The soldiers in the room exchanged confused looks, though some frowned or closed their eyes, guessing what was to come.
"As of two months from today, Fort Wash is closed for business."
Somebody whistled sharply.
"What's gonna happen to the company, sergeant major?" shouted Ribaddi from the back of the room.
"I was just coming to that. Wash Company is to return to Fort Lone Star and join with the other companies of the Tenth. Once there and fully assembled, the unit will undergo an extensive review and eventually be reassigned."
Though Nix said it as calmly as he would have as if he was ordering extra e-clips from the quartermaster, the weight behind his words left the room speechless.
They were to leave Fort Wash.
It was shock to them, as this had been their home for years. Many had been born grungers, sludgers or downsiders, the lowest of the low, and their rooms at Fort Wash were more home then whatever shack or slum hovel they grew up in. Moreover, they represented the professional warrior class of the States, men and women who choose to make war their vocation, for the Emperor, for Mankind. They were the backbone of Fort Wash, and their kind were backbone of the Army of the Coalition States. These were lifers, and they had made something of themselves here, earning ranks, honor and pride.
Some had even picked up sweethearts in Holmes. Holmes would certainly fall into economic distress when the company departed. Once the income dried up, the mercenary protectors would leave, and then town's people would be at the mercies of the ruthless wastes.
Dysart was the first to break the stunned silence with his usual comical, ironic tone, throwing up his hands and shaking his head, "And here I was thinking we were doing a bang up job bitch-slapping soupies and freaks."
"Yeah! Chief, don't they think we've been working hard enough out here in the ass-end of the good old CS? "
"We've got second rate kit and hand-me-down weapons and we've managed to knock up a kill ratio better then any of the other out-companies."
"I don't want to shack up with the other companies … incompetent assholes, the lot of 'em!"
People were beginning to shout; at him, at each other, out of frustration. The mood had soured quicker then Nix had anticipated, "Settle down," he ordered, "This has nothing to do with our record nor is it a slight on Wash's reputation."
"Like hell it ain't!" roared Hanno, kicking a metal trash can. It sailed across the room, smacking the wall with a great metallic clang.
"Enough!" shouted Nix, his patience at an end. "I've never seen such blubbering! You'd do well to dry your eyes, boys and girls, 'cause you all damn well know what the army is like. You get your orders, you carry them out. You get up, and get on. So quit your whining."
He scowled nastily about the room, only Darkcloak seemed unperturbed. He let the silence hang for a few more moments, knowing they needed time to pull themselves together.
He continued less harshly, "When we arrive at the base, everyone will get some time off, based on length of duty and service record," he said, then added, "Which means Dysart will be getting about six hours."
Dysart shrugged in a what-can-I-do manner. A muted chuckled rippled about the room.
"Alright, two months people," Nix held up two fingers, "I want this to be clean and by the numbers. No mistakes. You'll be getting your duty assignments shortly. Dismissed."
The soldiers broke up, muttering and swearing to themselves.
"Ungar, Bluebird, my office."
~ O ~
In Nix's little office the three sat in chairs facing each other, like they had dozens of times before.
"Simon, this is balls," Ungar said.
"Complete balls," agreed Bluebird.
Nix shrugged, "Tell me about it. Captain's not happy about it either."
"That lofty son-of-a-bitch Lavrov …" started Unger
"No Karl, it's not him. Even Colonel Santos has nothing to do with this. This could come only straight from the top. General Kashbrook. "
Ungar leaned back in his chair, "What's she thinking? We've been the forefront of her policy to secure the Northern Quadrant for what, ten years. The Tenth has marched and fought by her orders and this is what we get?"
"Karl, you sound like that moron Hanno," Bluebird said.
"Yeah, seriously, since when did you whine like a first month private?" smirked Nix.
Ungar sighed, rocked back on two legs of the chair, put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, thinking.
Nix glanced at Bluebird and caught her staring at him with an odd look on her face. She smiled at him. He gave a slight smile back and looked away.
"What's gonna happen when we get to the City?" she asked.
"Like I said, reassignment, review and redeployment. That said, the captain and I were talking and he thinks there may be some personnel transfers."
"Not surprising considering the magnitude of a triple-R," Ungar said.
"We could use the extra bodies," Bluebird added.
"True, but it's the type of transfers that worry me."
They both looked at him curiously.
"Wash Company has a higher than normal concentration of dog boys. Hell, first-team is made up of all dogs and me. Makes me think squads are likely to be transferred to other companies, or, even other regiments. Honestly, there is no way of telling, though Command has never liked the ratio of mutant canines to human troopers, so I think it's fairly likely the transferred will be made up with new, human, recruits."
Ungar placed his hands over his face and swore loudly into his palms. His chair snapped to the floor with loud bang.
Bluebird stared sadly, "my dogs," she mumbled.
"I know how you feel, Tabby." Nix said sincerely, placed a hand on her knee and told them both, "I'll do what I can to keep the company as together as possible, but we're small cogs in big machine that does not like exceptions, remember that, always."
Ungar snorted, "Balls, man … balls."
Nix nodded in agreement, then said, "On a happier note, you two will be getting at least two months off, if not more."
Unger smiled, Bluebird just shrugged.
"Think hard about where you want to go, 'cause if my guess is right, it may be the last time you'll get a serious leave for some years to come."
"Where do you think we'll be routed?" asked Ungar.
"I don't know for sure. Triple-r should take six months, maybe eight, then the Captain thinks we'll head north … maybe to face off against the bugs or tackle the magic cities."
"Hot damn! Xititicix or besieging sorcerer strongholds, not much of choice there. Couldn't we just get a nice occupation gig babysitting retro-heads?"
Nix smile, "Hah, not with your luck, Karl."
"I know you're an Iron Man, Simon, but I'm a man of the wide-open south. Lone Star's in my blood. The thought of all those forests fill me with dread."
Nix grunted, "It's been … uhh … nearly ten years since I last saw Iron Heart. Forget the trees, it's the winters you should worry about. Cold enough to freeze your balls off, they are."
"Even mine?" smirked Bluebird.
"Oh yeah, even yours, it's that cold."
"Give me sunny, warm wastes any day," said Ungar wistfully.
"To the end, eh?" Bluebird said with a half-smile.
The other two men shook their heads, "Yeah, to very damned end."