Oh... Well, you may have to wait a little while for that.
Tell ya what, here's the new chapter of the Dogs of War. Am I off the hook?
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Chapter 1 – Setting The Stage
Two months later...
Forward Operating Base Bravo, 1432 hours.
Colonel Ludlum sat at his cluttered desk, leaning back in his seat and looking with mild interest at the small stack of papers he held in one hand. The colonel was a medium-sized man in his late fifties, with the graying hair and wrinkled, grizzled face to prove it. The rest of the office was mostly bare; a few book-shelves and filing cabinets behind the desk, a couple of chairs in front, and a lazily rotating ceiling fan above that served to stir the humid air.
The door to Colonel Ludlum's office swung open to reveal a tall, skinny young man standing at attention. “You asked to see me, sir?” he asked, staring forward with his hand raised in a salute.
Colonel Ludlum waved him in, leaning forward and setting aside the folder he'd been inspecting. “At ease, Lieutenant Crichton. Have a seat.” Lieutenant Crichton relaxed and did as he was told, pulling up one of the lightly cushioned chairs. Colonel Ludlum leaned forward, brushing aside some of the clutter so he could rest his arms on the surface. “There were a few matters I wanted to discuss with you.”
“Of course, sir.”
Colonel Ludlum picked up the folder he'd been reading and handed it over to the young man, who opened it to see the image of a bearded Afghan man who was flashing a lopsided grin at the camera. “Usaid Rasshim,” Colonel Ludlum said smoothly, steepling his fingers in front of his nose. “A local warlord. We suspect that he's supplying weapons to the insurgents, operating out of a small town about thirty miles to the east of Khandahar. We need to mount a reconnaissance mission to determine exactly where the weapons cache is so that it can be dealt with accordingly.”
Lieutenant Crichton nodded thoughtfully, poring over the information inside the folder. “I assume that you would like me to organize this mission, sir?”
“Exactly. Are there any of your men that you had in mind?”
Lieutenant Crighton thought about that for a moment before he answered the colonel's question. “Perhaps, sir. Have you considered using one of the K-9 units?”
The colonel thought about that. “Not exactly. Are they any good?”
The lieutenant nodded sharply. “My dogs are some of the best, sir. If it were a night mission, they'd be able to get in and out, no problem.”
“Alright, we'll go with that. Assemble the team, then report back to me.”
“Yessir.” Crichton got to his feet, saluted, and prepared to leave. The colonel held up a hand. “One more thing, lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir?”
The colonel's eyes narrowed. “Get those jackasses from the third guard shift for me. Tell 'em that if they continue taking potshots at the local ferals, I'm having them all court martialed. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
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At the southern gate of the base, the heat was even more overbearing. The hot sun shone down on a pair of Marines boiling in full combat gear, and a trio of panting, body-armored dogs who weren't much better off.
“Oh, man,” groaned a German Shepherd named Sebastian. “How long is it until the shift change?”
“Quit whining,” muttered Achilles, a Doberman standing to Sebastian's left. He smacked the other dog upside the head when he opened his mouth to reply. “The heat's bad enough. I don't want to have to listen to you complain about it.”
“Both of you, can it,” snapped Bailey, a Boxer and the sole female of the group. “We've got incoming. Look alive.” Sure enough, the other two dogs flicked their ears in the direction of the road and heard the distinctive sound of a truck rumbling in.
The armed Marines leaning up against the guard shack stood up straight and took their positions on either side of the lowered gate. It was a few moments before the truck rolled to a stop, bringing a cloud of sandy dust with it. One Marine walked over to the window, tapping on it to signal the driver to roll it down before asking the standard 'name and business' questions. The other soldier waved Bailey, Achilles, and Sebastian over.
“That's our cue, boys,” Bailey muttered, straightening her vest and goggles before striding over to the back of the truck. Achilles and Sebastian followed in her wake.
“Sir, we're going to have to take a quick look through your vehicle,” the first Marine was telling the driver. “It'll just take a few moments.” He nodded to the second man, who slung his assault rifle around his shoulder on its strap and pulled open the back of the truck.
Almost instantly, the three dogs caught a hint of a few unmistakable odors that stood out from the standard background scents of human skin and sweat, food, and others. The important scents were gunpowder and explosives.
Bailey nodded to herself, glancing at the others to make sure they were all on the same page. Achilles nodded sharply. “Traces of gun powder, and C-4.” He paused to sniff the air again. “Maybe Semtex.”
Sebastian leaned in closer to take another sniff. “There can't be that much of it, though. The scent's too weak.”
Bailey shook her head slowly. “I wouldn't be so sure. In either case, we need a closer look.” She turned to the Marine standing behind the trio and gave him a curt nod. The man returned the gesture almost imperceptibly, then unslung his rifle from his shoulder and moved around to the truck's side to ask the driver to 'please step out of the vehicle'.
Ignoring the man's angry protests, Bailey climbed into the back of truck, shoving aside a crate and a few coils of rope to reach the source of the smell. The driver's shouts reached a crescendo, and he leaned back from his place in the front seat to try and grab at her. With a menacing clack, one of the Marines clicked the safety off of his weapon and chambered a round. In an icy tone, he asked again for the man to exit the vehicle.
This time, he hastily complied, leaving Bailey free to continue her search. She moved quickly, pulling the back seat, tearing aside an old, worn tarp, until she finally found what she was looking for. She tore the black garbage bag open, and the overwhelming smell of explosives poured out and into the air. It only took a few moments before the other two dogs were in the truck with her.
Achilles looked over her shoulder at the bomb, shaking his head slowly. “Well I'll be darned. Look at that thing!”
Sebastian edged in from behind him to get a better look. “That tricky son of a gun. They tried to seal it in and get rid of the scent, didn't they?”
“Yep.” Bailey replaced the tarp. “Well, looks like we've got another one. Let's bag 'im, tag 'im, and get on with our day. Sound like a plan?”
“I don't see-” The sound of shouting from outside interrupted Sebastian's reply. There was a dry scuffling sound, then the soft, rapid taps of shoes on the hot pavement. Bailey didn't even look up from explosive beside her. “Sebastian, Achilles. Apprehend.” In an instant, the two had sprung from the back of the truck. Bailey started counting out the seconds.
At two, she could hear two pairs of footsteps nearing those of the fleeing driver. At four, she heard a bark, a yell, and a satisfying thud. Making sure not to jostle the crude explosive, she climbed out of the truck and walked down the blazing asphalt to where the other two K-9 soldiers had pinned down the fleeing bomber.
“Good work, boys!” she called with a smug grin.
“Private Sebastian, Private Achilles, Lance Corporal Bailey, and Corporal Duke, you are to report to the briefing room immediately. I repeat, Private Sebastian, Private Achilles, Lance Corporal Bailey, and Corporal Duke, you are to report to the briefing room immediately.” The clipped instructions echoed over the base P.A. System.
One of the young Marines walked up beside Bailey. “We'll take care of this dope. You guys had better get going.”
Sebastian and Achilles roughly pulled the cursing, spitting man to his feet and shoved him into the waiting arms of the two Marines. The man struggled impotently against the soldier's vice-like grip, finally collapsing in panting exhaustion and forcing the two Marines to support the full weight of his limp form. Slowly, he raised his head and glared at Achilles with a livid, simmering hate. “American dog,” he hissed. “They will bury you.”
The Doberman's expression remained cold and detached. He returned the man's gaze with a cold stare of his own. “I'd like to see them try.”
Bailey took a long look at the man, then broke away with a disgusted grimace. “Come on, boys.” She marched off down the sizzling black pavement. With one last dirty look at the captured bomber, the other two dogs followed in her footsteps.
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“Hello?” The tinny, static-filled voice crackled out of the phone Duke was holding in one paw. The instant he heard it, his tail began to twitch happily back and forth.
“Dad!”
The man on the phone chuckled softly. “Duke? It's good to hear from ya, boy. How've you been?”
“Eh. I can't complain.” He glanced over at the clock on the wall on the other side of the room, noting the time with a sigh. “I don't have very long, so we're going to have to make this quick.”
“Alright. Now, lemme see... Well, Roxie and Ricky say hi, and they wanted to know how were doing. Luke says he's going to send you something he made for you, but he didn't want me to tell you what.” There was a sound of faint laughter. “I guess it's a surprise. What else... well, everyone down at the precinct wishes you luck.”
Duke heard all of this with a faint smile on his face. “Well, tell everyone that I'm feeling just fine, and I'll be back home by the fourth of July.”
“Heh. I'll be sure to-”
“Private Sebastian, Private Achilles, Lance Corporal Bailey, and Corporal Duke, you are to report to the briefing room immediately. I repeat, Private Sebastian, Private Achilles, Lance Corporal Bailey, and Corporal Duke, you are to report to the briefing room immediately.” The booming announcement reverberated off the walls of the small room, drowning out the man's words. Duke let out a heavy sigh. It seemed he had less time that he'd thought. “Sorry, Dad. I have to go.”
“No worries, Duke. Take care of yourself, buddy.”
“I always do.” He moved to hang up the phone, then stopped dead in his tracks. He pulled the phone back up to his ear in an instant. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love ya too, Duke.”
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“So the guy was trying to sneak a bomb onto the base, huh?”
Duke was lying on the crest of a sand dune, staring intently through a pair of binoculars at the shadowy village a quarter of a mile away. The night air had picked up into a strong breeze that swept across the rapidly cooling sand. The full moon hung silent in the dark, unclouded sky like a silvery beacon. Everything was bathed in its light, softening shadows and giving the land a faint gray luster.
“Yep. He tried to hide the scent, but we still found the device with no problem.” Bailey was lying prone on the ground to Duke's left. “Last I heard, they to the guy in for questioning, but he ain't talking.”
“Hmm. That's a shame.” Duke handed the binoculars off to Bailey. “He's obviously working for someone. I would be nice if we could find out who.”
“Actually,” Bailey muttered. “We might be having some luck in that area. When they searched the truck, they found a couple of 'secret' letters. Mostly black market weapons sales. The information was at least a month old, but they all had to do with a certain local warlord.”
“Would I be safe in guessing that it's the same guy we're going after?”
Bailey's expression didn't change noticeably, but Duke noticed her grip on the binoculars tighten. “Yep. Usaid Rasshim.”
“Well. That's ominous.”
“Yes. Yes it is.”
Duke pushed himself up and onto his elbows. “On that troubling note, I think it may be time to move in. See anything that looks like it might give us an issue?”
Bailey frowned, looking intently through the binoculars at the darkened village. “Not a thing. The last soldiers left an hour ago, and we haven't seen anything since then.”
“Very well then.” He turned back to see Achilles and Sebastian waiting behind him. “You guys ready?” He got a terse nod in response from each of them. “Then let's go.” Duke got to his feet, brushing the sand off of his vest and drawing the pistol he'd been issued from its holster. He clicked on the radio on his collar.
“Cerberus, this Cerberus Two,” he said in a detached, clipped tone. “The target seems to be clear and we are prepared to move in. How copy, over?”
The response crackled over the speaker just a moment later. “Cerberus to Cerberus Two. You are cleared to move in, over.”
“Copy that, Cerberus. We are Oscar Mike, out.” He clicked off the radio and turned back to the other dogs. “Alright, let's roll.”
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Autuor's Nose: Well, it seems I'm off to a slow start again. All I can do at this point is promise you that next week's update will have a bit more action than this one. Also, this is the first time I've actually kept one of my self-imposed deadlines, so woot for me. As for the chapter number, I've decided to consider the first Dogs of War short to be a sort of prequel. This is chapter one of the
actual Dogs of War, if that makes sense.
In other news, I wrote a good chunk of what will probably be Chapter 7 or 8 last night. It's entitled 'The Devil's Dance Floor'. Feel free to see what you can make of that.