Bad Neighbors, Chapter 2

"A Fowl Wind of War"

On the cold, wet, field, stained red with blood and littered with bodies, a collapsible table and Command Center had been established, due to the fact that the Horde army was a ways away from their outpost to the northeast. At the table, standing in his brown and green full spiked-plate armor, was an orc. His face was a bit worn with age, and his skin was a light-acid green. With a long set of black hair running down the middle of his head and down onto part of his back, and with tusks that could easily have been longer than his firm hands, he looked quite menacing as he stood at the table that had been littered with charts and reports over the last hour.

Lieutenant Krhal "Hammer" Lillybloom stood with his hand planted flat on the table, rain already spattering the papers not under his hands from the dark clouds forming above. He had a large, hammer over his broad back and shoulders, giving one the impression of where he might have earned his nickname. Across from him stood his trollish subordinate, Jol'zun Dirtwinder, a scraggly Darkspear with short, upright tusks and a ashy-red mohawk.

"So mon, what jou be plannin' to do?" the tall troll asked, his bow and broad-headed axe slung over his back.

"We're going to fall back and recoup, build up our cavalry support and hopefully be ready to make another push by the time the month ends." Krahl responded, his red eyes scanning the battlefield around him as various trolls, orcs, elves, and tauren dragged the fallen of their side out, also stopping to shackle the Alliance they encountered who appeared to be moving. "Looks like they took it worse than we did this time." he absently stated, an already obvious fact.

"Yah mon, an' I think that was because o' mah-" the troll standing at the other side of the table began, only to be cut off by a yell from an approaching tauren.

"We got their CO!" came the booming yell across the battlefield, causing the more sensitive among the onlookers to cover their ears with expressions of pain.

The orc at the table looked over at his companion, his mouth open slightly as if he had just been about to remark but had been stopped in the process. The troll merely shrugged at him and spoke again. "Mebbe it's tha real one dis time, mon."

The orc nodded curtly at his companion before turning towards the young, brown tauren warrior approaching him with what appeared to be a leash in his huge hands. In a businesslike manner, Lt. Lillybloom straightened out to his commendable 6'7, addressing the private with an expectant frown. "Make your report."

The young tauren hunched a bit, as he was still taller than the Lieutenant at his average 7'5, and nodded once. "We captured the en'my's CO, Sir." The leash remained clutched in his huge, furry hands.

The troll, off to the other side of the table, gave the Private a confused look. "Jou got their command'n officer, on a leash, mon?" He scratched his head with a blue-green, three-fingered hand.

The tauren nodded, wiping sweat off of his hardly-apparent brow with one hand, the other solely managing the leash now. "It was the only way we could control him. The thing's a monster, Sirs!" came his booming voice, carrying traces of a pant.

The orc turned to his companion, a smirk on his face. "Maybe it is the real thing this time.." The troll merely nodded, looking astonished that a tauren would be wearied at this. The leash appeared to be low to the ground. "Could it have been a gnome or dwarf?" both Lieutenants thought to themselves as the leash began to slowly slacken.

Farther back from the command post, along the trail of the leash, and through the bleak fog that had begun to accompany the now-drizzling rain, walked the commanding officer of the Alliance forces that had fought -and lost- that day. Sergeant Cluck walked with his head held high, occasionally giving the orcs or elves that passed a snort of disdain, or a cluck of reprisal -the one he had been named for-. The shackles around his legs hampered his walking, but allowed the Sergeant to take his time and mock each Horde warrior he came across; the casters and archers had already moved on or fallen back to the main camp.

Lieutenant Lillybloom looked over at Lieutenant Dirtwinder, a frown of uncertainty crossing the large orc's features. The troll gave him a shrug, his own features uncertain, but slightly bemused. "'oo knows, mon?"

"Not me, and I don't like that." the well-built orc grumbled before turning back to the young tauren. "Y've done well, Private Moonglazer. Bring their CO to the front and then you're dismissed." The tauren gave a salute before gathering up the leather leash cheerily, jerking along whatever was at the end with a mighty pull.

Whatever the Lieutenants had expected to see that day on the end of the leash was not there. Sergeant Cluck was pulled -more like, thrown- forward with the power of the tauren's arms, coming up almost like a missile and sliding, face-down through the mud, before the Lieutenants and the desk that he had nearly hit.

The orc and troll stared with disbelief, shocked beyond anything they had seen that day. A battle, countless deaths, untold amounts of magic and might, but this small being before them managed to plant an expression of shock clean on their open-mouthed faces.

The thing about Sergeant Cluck that had long amazed and bemused the members of the Alliance was clearly apparent to the two Lieutenants. The small Sergeant stood on two legs, and even wore a military uniform and cap, decorated to signify his position. He had long been a matter of joking amongst the Horde, and even considered by some to be no more than a legend. This too, might've been the reason the officers were so shocked.

The thing about Sergeant Bwak Cluck that had so shocked them, that was so apparent, was that the commander who had ordered the bloody conflict that had taken many lives on both sides that day, was in fact, a chicken.

The tauren was the least surprised of them all, his smile wide and his shoulders relaxed; he'd already forgotten that he'd been dismissed.

The orc turned unexpectedly on the tauren Private, his whole posture and expression screaming rage. "WHAT KIND OF JOKE IS THIS?! THOUGHT YOU'D PUT ONE UP OVER THE OFFICER CORPS, DID YOU, OR ARE YOU JUST DAFT?!"

The tauren wilted backward, although he was still apparently taller than the orc who was yelling at him. "S-sir it's no joke...This i-is their c-c-commanding officer."

Lieutenant Lillybloom sighed, covering his face with his palm. "Dismissed, Private."

"Should I take Sergeant-" the Tauren began.

"NO, LEAVE THE DAMN CHICKEN!" the orc yelled out loud from behind his palm, causing a few passing stretcher-bearers and slave-escorts to look over at him strangely.

The tauren gave a weak, quivering salute and dashed off, his large hooves slopping as he ran through the now-muddy field towards the main camps about a mile back.

Sergeant Cluck gave an almost amused set of rumbling laughs at this, although all the trollish and orcish Lieutenants heard was "Cluck, cluck, cluck."

The orc drew his hand down his face to over his mouth, glaring down at the chicken. "Shut up, stupid chicken. You ruined my day." Sergeant Cluck just stared back, stirring his white feathers as the rain fell on them and letting out a flat, mocking "Bwak."..

The troll, Lieutenant Dirtwinder, looked over at the chicken closely, his set-back eyes scrutinizing the poultry with as much wariness as if he had been facing a human. "I t'ink he knows what we're talkin' 'bout, mon."

The orcish officer across the table from Jol'zun lowered his hand to his side, snorting agitatedly before looking over at his ally. "Shutup, it's just a chicken, and I think after this it'll taste much better for dinner..."

***

Across the field, assembled in a small group, were what had come up from the Alliance outpost about 20 miles back to survey the aftermath of the fight; they didn't like what they'd seen so far. The Horde had won the conflict, and it appeared that they had not only captured some of the still-living soldiers, but even Sergeant Cluck. Master Gunnery Sergeant Johnson Ashmane stood with his team of gnomes and humans on the hill, apart from the two flighty night elves who had been sent to scout.

The human Gunnery Sergeant turned to look at the pair of blue-haired, purple-skinned, leather-clad elves. He scrutinized them with a stern eye, having no real affinity for the kal'dorei as a people. Opening his mouth, the heavily built man started in his classic drawl, sounding Texan -by today's standards-. "Now listen up here, an' you listen good you long-eared leaf-bags. I want the target area scouted out, examined, analyzed, mapped, geographed, an' whatever else you can do with those damn senses. Understand?"

The two night elves, a young male and female, nodded in earnest, almost bouncing around with energy and nervousness. "Y-yessir!" came their collective response, trying to stand at attention to the fierce Gunnery Sergeant while taking orders.

Johnson looked them over once again, his eyes taking a bit longer on the female night elf than her brother at her side. Satisfied, he gave them a smirk with one corner of his rough, lightly-tanned face pulled up. "Dismissed."

The two night elves were gone before he could have even wished them luck, but like he would have done that anyway. The tall human chuckled to himself, removing the heavy, dwarven shotgun from his back and checking it over as he turned and walked behind where he had just been towards the battery that his men had already prepared, entrenched into the hill with sandbags piled around it for stability and cover. The gnomes scurried about the stationary cannon, rooted in the ground on a pivoting and rotating trailer. To the side stood the only other human on the team, watching the gnomes with an idle, slack-jawed look. Ashmane walked up to the human Private's side, his flat-top black-grey hair and beard with moustache and sideburns making him look quite intimidating. Taking advantage of this, the Sergeant stood back, set his feet, and raised his large shotgun to eye level -well, glazed-eye level, with the Private- and held still for a few moments. After assuring himself that Private Brady was oblivious, Ashmane yelled in a booming, echoing voice straight down the side of the gun that his cheek was pressed into the stock of. "HEY BRADY! IS MY BARREL CLEAN!?"

Brady was shocked out of his reverie, spinning around to look down the barrel of the gun and screaming in a girlish voice "NO, SIR!" Before falling flat, as if afraid of being shot by his own commanding officer.

Ashmane simply laughed at him, "Then clean it, dirtbag." before tossing the heavy gun down on Brady's back. "And when you're done with that you can..." On it went, with a despairing Brady looking forward to yet another sleepless night, and Ashmane looking forward to being able to pound the living Light out of the Horde across the way in the morning.