Disclaimer the second: I have a really, really odd and absurdist sense of humour, you have been warned.
George
William Vaughn cursed as the engine died.
The extraction itself had gone off without a hitch, base personnel gone soft after months of "babysitting". But once they got to the LZ everything had gone FUBAR. The Ruskies had gotten wind of the op and were waiting for them.
The situation might still have been salvaged, if not for a trigger-happy conscript. His team had been taken out before he managed to wheel the truck around and get the hell out of dodge. His last sight in the rear view mirror had been the shooter getting his brains blown out by a tall woman.
And now he was stuck in the middle of nowhere.
Gingerly, he opened the door and started towards the hood. He never made it, bitter cold, shock, and blood loss overcoming him.
Later, a lone figure approached the vehicle. Ignoring the still form crumpled in the snow, it peered curiously into the truck. Bright brown eyes peered back fearlessly.
"Hullo." Long arms covered in thick white fur picked up the girl, cradling her to an equally furry chest. "I will love you and hug you and pet you and squeeze you and I will call you George."
The End
A/N: Warned you