Two days had crawled by since we arrived at the I-76 and I-80 interchange. The 833rd had dwindled to a skeleton crew, yet they helped us get a camp cobbled together. Right now, the MCV was our makeshift tactical operations center while we wrestled gear off the trucks. The crane on the FRS lifted the heaviest loads, but the rest we had to unload by hand. Tedious didn’t begin to cover it.
While most of the team was buried in that back-breaking work, Stoneclaw, Captain Bresden, and I were locked in planning mode, figuring out how to seal off the I-76 corridor from I-80. Turns out, some of the crates on Seth’s trailer were packed with C-4—like a surprise gift you really don’t want to open. Between Stoneclaw’s experience and Bresden’s grit, we hashed out a plan: blow eight bridges along a river a mile southwest of us to create a natural barrier, leaving just one back road bridge west of I-76 as a gate. The I-76 bridge itself would be barricaded and rigged to blow, a last-resort fail-safe if things went to hell.
“Stoneclaw, take your team and handle those eight eastern bridges,” I ordered, my voice carrying the weight of command I was still getting used to. Then I turned to Captain Bresden. “Take two of your roughest trucks and block off the western bridge with your men.”
“Roger, Alpha,” they both said before heading out.
As soon as they left, I slumped into Major Pixiewolf’s chair, the weight of our situation pressing down hard. This plan wasn’t foolproof—far from it—but it was all we had to slow down anyone who might come charging down I-76. We’d need to jerry-rig something for the I-76 bridge, something that could hold but also be moved if we needed to retreat or let reinforcements through.
The sound of boots dragging across the floor pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up to see a filthy, sweat-soaked Steve standing in the doorway, his exhaustion written in every line of his body. I’d put him in charge of getting our camp up and running, and he hadn’t hesitated to step up. By the end of the first day, we had a makeshift medical area, two massive tents for sleeping, and what Steve considered the crown jewel—a fully functional makeshift kitchen. We’d literally packed the entire field operations kit for the 833rd onto our trucks.
Normally, a unit could set up a camp like this in a day, but with a crew of untrained civilians, it was taking a bit longer. Still, with help from the 833rd, my team was picking up the basics fast.
“What’s up, Steve?” I asked, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice.
“Just need to get some water and take a breather,” he replied, heading straight for the MCV’s kitchen.
“How’s the setup going?” I called after him.
“Good so far. Basics are done. But we need to find water soon,” he said, reappearing with a bottle in hand.
“There’s a large pond about three hundred yards north, just beyond the trees,” I offered.
“Perfect. We’ll need to plan on moving the MCV closer to it,” he said, taking a long pull from the bottle.
“How much water do we have left?” I asked, already bracing for bad news.
“About two days’ worth,” he said, sinking into his chair like it was holding him together.
“Well, hopefully, we’ll be out of here by then,” I remarked, my eyes scanning the map on my screen.
“Any updates from the higher-ups?” he asked, eyes half-lidded as he looked at his own screen.
“Nothing substantial. They’re gathering a unit to relieve us, but it’ll take a few days to get everything in order and get here,” I said, turning my chair to face him fully.
“Let’s hope nothing happens in the meantime. We’re stretched thin as it is,” he grunted.
“Thanks, jinx us, why don’t you…” I growled, though there was no real bite in it.
“Don’t worry. We’ve got lookouts posted. Only sightings so far are a few massive deer, large birds, and other wildlife,” he said quickly, as if trying to ward off any bad luck his words might bring.
“That’s good, keep the watch in place. As much as I doubt the Hell Hounds will come after us, we don’t know what they’re capable of,” I said, the lingering tension making my voice harder than I intended.
Steve leaned back, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Do you have a plan for dealing with them on the way back?”
“I’ve been mulling it over for the past day or so, but nothing’s set in stone yet. I’ll discuss it with Stoneclaw when he gets back from his mission,” I replied, the weight of the unknown pressing on me.
“You might want to talk to Mac; she’s got a few ideas that could help,” he suggested, a knowing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Really?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Why don’t you go see for yourself? She’s been rather busy today,” he said, the grin widening.
I arched an eyebrow at him, suspecting there was more to this than he was letting on. Standing up, I made my way out of the MCV, heading towards the FRS. As I rounded the corner, I came to an abrupt halt, my jaw nearly dropping at the sight before me.
Mounted on the front of my truck was a massive ten-foot-wide bulldozer blade, looking like something straight out of a mechanized nightmare. It was clear that Mac had scavenged it from an old Caterpillar dozer, half-hidden by the trees to our north. She’d somehow managed to drag it over to the FRS and fabricate a heavy-duty framework that now fused my truck and the blade into one formidable unit. She was busy cutting slits into the blade, likely to make sure my headlights wouldn’t be entirely useless.
“What in the hell?” I blurted out, unable to process the sight.
Mac popped her head up, pushing her round welding goggles onto her forehead, revealing a wide, mischievous grin. “Hey, Lyra!” she called out, her voice practically dripping with excitement.
“Uh… Hi…” I replied, still staring at the monstrosity now attached to the front of my truck.
“I made an upgrade to Battle Wagon. Now he can bash through obstacles without taking as much damage,” she declared proudly, as if she’d just unveiled a masterpiece.
“I see this…” I muttered, torn between being furious that she’d modified my truck without asking and being impressed by her ingenuity.
She caught my conflicted expression and quickly added, “I know I didn’t ask for your permission first, but this upgrade will prevent further damage to your baby. Plus, since the blade’s wider than the truck, it’ll push debris away from him and the rest of the fleet.”
“Him?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“Yeah, him. Your truck is a ‘him,’ and his name is Battle Wagon,” she stated with all the confidence in the world, like it was the most obvious thing.
“You… named my truck?” I asked, incredulous.
“Yep, and it fits,” she said, hands on her hips, daring me to disagree.
I sighed, accepting the name with a shrug. “I guess there are worse things you could have named it.”
In truth, it was tradition to name your truck—good luck, they said. But with everything else going on, I hadn’t even thought about naming mine. It seemed fitting, though, that Mac, with all her boundless energy and enthusiasm, had done it for me. Battle Wagon. It had a nice ring to it, like a promise that this truck would take on anything I threw at it.
“I’ve got some other modifications in mind for the rest of the fleet,” she added, her eyes gleaming with that telltale spark of inspiration.
“Should I ask?” I said, half-dreading her answer.
“I’m planning on adding gun emplacements for the dragons, Steve, Major Pain in the Ass, and myself. After the last situation, Stoneclaw thinks the JLTVs aren’t effective enough. He wants to place a dragon with each driver,” she explained.
“Are you sure giving up the JLTVs is a good idea?” I asked, my concern evident.
“To quote Stoneclaw: ‘Half of my team is ineffective because they have to drive the JLTVs. We’re dragons, we can scout by flying,’” she said, doing her best to mimic Stoneclaw’s gruff voice.
I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “Alright, do what you can,” I said, turning to leave. But then, a thought struck me, and I turned back around.
“Do you know who’s going to ride with me?” I asked, curious about the plan.
“I am! Who else would be riding in Battle Wagon and the FRS?” Mac declared, her voice brimming with enthusiasm.
“Ah, okay. I figured it would be Steve since he is my beta,” I said, though I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of relief that it would be Mac.
“Hell no! He’ll be manning the MCV. I found some fun toys in our shipment that I’m going to, let’s say, strategically transfer to a more convenient location for his use,” she added, a devious grin spreading across her face.
I arched an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. If she could turn my truck into a makeshift battering ram with a scavenged bulldozer blade, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what she had in mind for the rest of the fleet. Deciding it was best to leave Mac to her devices, I turned and headed out to check on the camp’s progress. I had spent the entire morning holed up in the MCV, planning our next steps, and it was time to show my face to the team.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Stepping into the clearing encircled by our rigs, I took in the organized chaos. Jake and Kira were lugging a crate of supplies toward the makeshift kitchen, where Steve was already waving them inside. To my left, a couple of soldiers from the 833rd stood near an LMTV, smoking and conversing in low tones, their postures betraying exhaustion. Elsewhere, members of my team were either working on various tasks or taking a much-needed break.
I spotted Cain, Abel, and Azura huddled together, deep in discussion as they practiced disassembling and reassembling their rifles—a scene that sparked an idea. My team was raw, untrained in the ways of combat beyond basic self-defense. But here we were, with military-trained personnel at our disposal. It was time to make the most of that.
I caught the attention of the two soldiers who were still smoking and beckoned them over. They hesitated briefly before approaching, clearly unsure what to expect. As they got closer, I could see the weariness in their eyes, yet they still moved with a soldier’s discipline. One was a sergeant, the other a specialist. They began to lift their hands to salute, but I shot them a flat stare that made it clear—no formalities here. We were in the field, and the last thing I needed was to draw unnecessary attention with military protocol.
“How can we help you, Colonel Acosta?” the sergeant asked, his voice smooth but tinged with a rogue’s edge.
“First and foremost, it’s Alpha Acosta, not colonel. I’m not in uniform. Secondly, what’s the status of the camp?” I asked, keeping my tone steady.
“Yes, ma’am. The camp is as secure as we can make it for now. Captain Bresden and a small team have gone to secure the bridge, and our medic is maintaining the medical tent. All injured personnel are stable. We were just taking a break before our next tasking,” the sergeant reported with a professionalism that made me nod in approval.
“Good. I want you to gather anyone who isn’t currently engaged in critical tasks and have them meet me by the field kitchen,” I instructed calmly.
“Yes, ma’am,” they responded in unison before hurrying off to carry out my orders.
With that, I made my way to the kitchen tent. Inside, Steve and Major Pixiewolf were busy moving about, cooking up what smelled like a feast. The two of them had raided the MCV’s pantry, determined to ensure that we got at least one decent meal a day. Steve, ever the resourceful one, had pieced together a functional field kitchen using what little was left from the 833rd’s ambushed supplies.
In one corner, he had repurposed a metal crate and the old, dented grill from my truck into a makeshift wood-burning grill. He was using ammo cans as improvised cooking pots, and had fashioned a sink from larger ammo cans, with a workstation made of pallets and empty wooden crates. It was impressive—an ingenious blend of necessity and creativity.
I could smell the aroma of searing meat and vegetables while he and Pixiewolf moved about the kitchen dicing, stirring, and cleaning as they cooked. Whatever they were preparing made my mouth water. I had come to discover that the two of them were a force to be reckoned with in the kitchen.
“What’s on the menu today?” I asked, raising my voice to catch their attention.
They both turned to look at me, and Steve was the first to speak. “For lunch, it’ll be MREs, but for dinner, we’ve got southern-style beef stew on the way,” he replied with a hint of pride.
“Oh… that sounds delicious,” I said, unable to resist licking my lips at the thought.
“My goal is to at least give everyone one good meal a day,” he added, his voice carrying a rare note of happiness in this grim environment.
“Sounds like a solid plan. Keep up the good work,” I praised, offering him a smile before turning to leave.
My next stop was the medical tent near the kitchen. As I stepped in, the scene hit me: soldiers from the 833rd either lying or sitting on cots, various wounds marring their bodies. Some were asleep, others engaged in quiet conversations or reading. The medic was rebandaging one soldier’s arm, his movements precise but weary. The soldier caught sight of me and subtly tapped the medic, who looked up.
“Be with you momentarily,” he announced, his tone clipped.
“Alright,” I replied, willing to wait despite the obvious impatience in his voice.
A few minutes later, the medic finished his task and approached me, pulling on his uniform coat and zipping it up. The staff sergeant rank pinned to his chest gleamed, but his tired eyes betrayed the strain he was under.
“What can I assist you with, Alpha Acosta?” he asked, his tone a mix of exhaustion and irritation.
“I just wanted to check in, see how you and the others are holding up,” I said, keeping my voice calm despite his obvious aggravation.
“Well, if I had a full medical facility and the supplies I need, we’d be doing a hell of a lot better,” he grumbled, his frustration bubbling over. “I’m a medic, not a miracle worker.”
“Do you need any assistance?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Not at this time. I just need more supplies and to get these soldiers out of here as soon as possible,” he huffed, clearly at the end of his rope.
“We have an evac team and a new unit on the way,” I informed him, hoping it would ease his stress, if only slightly.
“Well, they need to hurry their asses up. I really don’t want to have to resort to old-school medical methods to save some of these men,” he growled.
I nodded, understanding his frustration. Before stepping out, I glanced over my shoulder and added, “Sergeant, you’re doing a damn good job. Keep it up.”
He grunted in response, already turning back to his patients. I’d come to realize that most medics, especially in high-stress situations, tended to be surly and irritable. It was their way of coping with the pressure of literally holding lives in their hands.
As I stepped out from the tent, I noticed a group gathered near the kitchen tent—my team mingling with some of the 833rd soldiers. Walking over, I found the sergeant and specialist from earlier keeping everyone’s attention. I took a moment to assess the scene before speaking.
“Is this everyone who isn’t busy?” I asked, scanning the group.
“Yes, ma’am,” the sergeant answered promptly.
Looking around, I saw Tyler, Cain, Abel, Azura, Sasha, Charlotte, and five soldiers—all watching me with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.
“Sergeant, I want you to take everyone out towards the tree line and run some weapons training—covering basic positions, covered and uncovered. My wolves don’t have the training your guys do, and they need a crash course on how to defend a position,” I ordered, keeping my tone authoritative but not harsh.
The sergeant hesitated for a moment, clearly surprised. “Uh… do you mean to tell me that you and your group aren’t military?” he asked, his disbelief evident.
“We weren’t when we were sent out here. That’s since changed,” I replied evenly.
“That seems like it was a piss-poor plan,” he remarked, his voice laced with disbelief.
“Bear in mind, we managed to punch through an ambush without losing a single person or truck. And that was without military training,” I retorted, letting the weight of my words sink in. The sergeant visibly cringed, clearly recalling the trauma his unit had endured.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see to the training,” he said, averting his gaze.
As I looked at my team, I could see the disbelief and annoyance on their faces. It was clear they weren’t thrilled about the prospect of training, but I wasn’t about to let them off the hook.
“Don’t give me that look. You need this training so that if something happens, you’re prepared,” I chided, my tone brooking no argument.
They let out a collective sigh of defeat before turning to the sergeant, awaiting his instructions.
“Everyone grab an MRE and let’s head over to the wood line,” he directed.
I watched them move off, my mind already shifting to the next task. Just then, the unmistakable sound of huge wings flapping overhead caught my attention. Looking up, I saw Stoneclaw soaring in, his massive form casting a shadow over the camp as he landed just outside the perimeter.
Quickly, I made my way toward him, eager to hear what had brought him back so soon.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice steady but laced with concern.
“We spotted a scouting party heading east, coming from this direction. It looks like some of the rogue group we encountered on our way here,” Stoneclaw informed me, his deep voice carrying a weight of seriousness.
“How did we miss them?” I asked, my mind racing through possible oversights.
“Raptor saw them exit Brule city on motorcycles and jump on the interstate to head back,” he replied.
“That’s not good. Do you think they found us?” I asked, my tone now edged with worry.
“It’s possible. They seemed to be using the old US highways instead of the interstate. Our camp is well-hidden behind the interstate overpass and the trees, and we haven’t had any direct contact with them since we arrived. But with them getting on the interstate to head back, there’s a high chance they’ve clocked us,” he answered, his voice grim.
“How long until your mission is complete?” I demanded, the urgency in my voice undeniable.
“The team should be done in the next couple of hours,” he responded.
“Alright, head back and get it done,” I ordered, feeling the weight of command pressing down on me.
“I’ve put Icetail in charge. He’ll see it through. With the potential threat looming, we need to keep at least one dragon here,” he countered, his tone leaving no room for debate.
“Fair point,” I acknowledged, appreciating his foresight. “Captain Bresden and his team should be back here soon.”
“I’ll inform him when he arrives,” Stoneclaw declared, already shifting gears mentally.
“If the Hell Hounds do come, when do you think they’ll hit us?” I asked, bracing myself for the worst.
“Nighttime would be optimal for them,” he replied, the logic chilling in its simplicity.
“True. I’ve got some of the team training now for defensive tactics,” I said, just as the sharp crack of gunfire pierced the air.
“Good thinking. Want me to go assist?” he offered, his readiness to act a comfort in this uncertain situation.
“Once you speak with Captain Bresden, get anyone who isn’t doing anything important to join the training,” I instructed.
“Roger, Alpha,” he replied, shifting back into his human form and heading toward the MCV without hesitation.
I turned away, my mind already moving to the next task. I needed to inform Steve and Pixiewolf about this latest development. On the way over, I called out for Mac to join me. Ten minutes later, the four of us were huddled around Steve’s makeshift workspace, MREs in hand, hashing out contingency plans in case we were attacked. The atmosphere was thick with tension, each of us fully aware of the stakes.
Captain Bresden walked in, his face etched with concern. I tossed him an MRE and made space for him at the table.
“Major Stoneclaw told me what he and his team saw,” Captain Bresden announced, his tone all business.
“Do you have any suggestions?” I asked, genuinely curious about his perspective.
“With limited manpower, I think we should dig in,” he replied, the old-school military solution.
“I don’t think digging in is our best option. We have the ability to fight both defensively and offensively,” I remarked, leaning forward to emphasize my point.
“Please, do explain,” he prompted, intrigued but skeptical.
“Most of my team has some combat training. Major Pixiewolf is a hell of a pathfinder, Steve has werewolf combat experience, Mac is a former Marine and a phoenix, and we have eight dragons who are special forces trained,” I laid out, listing our strengths with confidence.
“And you? You’re the alpha of this... interesting group. What’s your combat experience?” he asked, his tone both challenging and respectful.
I couldn’t help but grin. “I fought in the battle of the Second Twilight Winter alongside the President and the Zaraki family,” I revealed, watching his eyes widen slightly in surprise.
“Impressive,” he admitted, nodding in acknowledgment.
“So, what’s your plan?” he asked, genuinely interested now.
“Have what’s left of your men dig in with my drivers near the camp. You’ll be in command of them. The dragons will provide air support. The rest of us will advance on the enemy once we have an idea of where they’ll strike from. We’ll flank them, pushing them into your men, boxing them in with nowhere to go,” I explained, my voice steady and resolute.
He arched an eyebrow, clearly considering the strategy. “Interesting tactic, Alpha Acosta. Why box them in instead of just pushing them back?” he asked, testing my reasoning.
“Because this group has already hit us twice. When our support arrives, we need to get back to Des Moines, which means we’ll face them again. Better to eliminate them on our terms than risk facing them on theirs,” I replied, my eyes locking with his, conveying the seriousness of our situation.
“Ah, so eliminate them now rather than later,” he said, nodding as he took a bite of his food.
“Exactly,” I remarked, feeling a grim satisfaction at the clarity of our plan.
“Well, I’ll go help Major Stoneclaw with the training and inform them of the plan,” he said, gathering his MRE before heading out.
I looked around at the others, noting their silent agreement. There wasn’t much else to say. I turned my attention back to my own MRE, digging into the spaghetti and meatballs with a renewed sense of purpose.