It took us an hour to get everything set up to roll the tank back onto its tracks. We had to widen the gap between the two HETs that were sandwiching the unit that had lost its tank. From there, the now-empty HET dropped its trailer in front of our fleet before driving back over to the tank. We staged the M1070 truck so that its back was pointed towards the tank, and I had Kira and Abel pull up in front of it with their RGNs still attached. Once staged, we lowered their trailers so that the bottoms were sitting on the ground, ensuring stability.
Next, we parked the FRS in the gap between Kira and Abel’s trucks and proceeded to use our half-inch chains and binders to tie the three trailers together, transforming them into a massive counterweight. With our rigs locked into position, we linked Kira and Abel’s trailers to the M1070 truck. Meanwhile, Mac was busy lowering the FRS trailer to the ground, extending its outriggers, and uncoiling the crane. She pulled out the spare high-tension cable stored in one of the cargo containers and set up a dual block and tackle on the front of the M1070.
The M1070 was now completely integrated with our rigs. The soldiers from the 77th Armored Regiment unraveled the massive winches on the M1070 and connected the 147,000-pound turtle to the truck, preparing for the roll.
As we stood by, watching the other unit finalize preparations, Sargeant Major Baxter walked over, a skeptical look on his face.
"Are you sure this will work?" he asked, eyeing the setup.
"As sure as I can be," Mac replied confidently. Her tone carried the authority of someone who had done this before—because she had. She was the only warrant officer here, with training from her time in the Marines in heavy recovery operations.
Of course, Colonel Sirus had tried to interject with his own bright idea, suggesting they use two other tanks to try and roll the first one over. Mac had shot him down with the precision of a sniper, pointing out the obvious: the M1A2 Abrams was at the bottom of a twenty-foot embankment. The other tanks wouldn’t have the traction or the angle to do the job. The M1070’s winches, however, were fully capable. After that, Sirus had stormed off, his bruised ego trailing behind him.
"And where’s the Colonel now?" I asked, scanning the area.
"Down there, barking orders," Sargeant Major Baxter replied, nodding toward the Colonel, who was frantically gesturing beside the overturned tank.
"How did General Zaraki take the news?" I asked, already guessing the answer.
Sargeant Major Baxter’s expression soured, his upper lip twitching. "Let’s just say, if I never have to see a furious Draconian again, it’ll be too soon. He tore the Colonel apart—figuratively, but it was close enough. After today, I’m pretty sure the Colonel’s career is over."
"Did he shift?" I asked, a grin tugging at my lips.
"Oh, he shifted, alright. For a twenty-four-year-old, he’s one of the most terrifying people I’ve ever encountered. How did he even become a general at such a young age?"
I shrugged, though I knew the answer well. "He and Colonel Zaraki were practically bred for this. Natural leaders, especially after the Twilight Battle—no one questioned their command potential."
Baxter nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of my words. "Even through the video call, I could feel the power radiating off him."
"You should count yourself lucky it was just a call," I said, my tone darkening. "If it had been in person, you two would’ve been reduced to quivering messes. And thank the stars Colonel Zaraki wasn’t there. She would’ve ripped out your throats, pissed down your necks, and tossed your corpses off the Crescent Moon without a second thought."
Baxter’s eyes widened, and he quickly averted his gaze. "I knew she was ruthless, but not that ruthless."
"She doesn’t tolerate incompetence or disrespect. Not even a little."
Before our conversation could continue, a sharp whistle cut through the air, grabbing my attention. I turned to see Colonel Sirus giving a thumbs-up to the soldiers manning the M1070. I caught Mac’s eye and gave her a nod, signaling her to apply tension to the anchor. With practiced precision, she added just enough tension to eliminate the slack in her rigging. Then, with two sharp whistles and a thumbs-up of her own, she signaled the crew to begin.
As the M1070’s lines pulled taut, I watched the massive truck slide back a few inches before our anchor system held firm. The engine let out a low groan, straining under the weight, but it held steady. Slowly, the anchor system groaned as it took on the combined weight of the truck and the overturned tank. Everything slid another inch or so before locking into place, stabilizing the entire setup.
Sargeant Major Baxter’s eyes widened as the tank began to tilt upwards, inch by painstaking inch. The tension in the air was thick as the massive vehicle slowly righted itself. When it finally reached its tipping point, the lines went slack, and the tank dropped back onto its tracks with a ground-shaking thud. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and glanced over at Mac. Sargeant Major Baxter mirrored my actions, nodding his approval at Mac’s expertise.
It took another thirty minutes to haul the tank up the embankment. Once it was back on the trailer, we began the laborious task of breaking down the rigging and clearing the area. By the time we had everything reconnected and in place, the sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the landscape.
Sargeant Major Baxter formally requested that my unit oversee the securement of the tank and inspect the others as well. What we discovered was nothing short of alarming. The 77th Armored Regiment had been using 3/8th-inch grade 70 transport chains, rated for a working load limit of just 6,600 pounds—grossly inadequate for securing 147,000-pound tanks. Worse still, they hadn’t even used the minimum required amount of securement in the first place.
As we conducted our inspections, we found that several tanks had already snapped their chains. It was sheer luck that only one tank had come off the HETs. A sharp curve in the road could have easily sent multiple tanks careening into ditches. Best practices dictate securing a load with enough chains to handle half the item’s total weight, and the 77th had fallen woefully short of that standard.
I informed Sargeant Major Baxter of our findings. Between the two units, it took another two hours to properly secure the tanks. We had to dip into our own supply of chains and binders to ensure everything was locked down tight. My team took photos of the entire process, documenting our work for future reference, and sent them to Steve to keep on file.
By the time we were finished, darkness had settled in, and everyone was sweaty, grimy, and thoroughly exhausted. We had lost precious time, and I checked in with my wolves to ensure they could still make the drive to our first camp, now officially designated as Camp Howling Wolf—named in honor of our first battle. Despite the chaos, they all confirmed they were good to go, their determination fueled by frustration.
Climbing back into my truck, I found Mac already in the passenger seat, her face a mixture of concern and something else—hurt, maybe. I gave her a questioning look as I donned my headset and issued the order to roll out. But before I could say anything, she spoke first.
“Stoneclaw spoke to me…” she began, her voice tinged with unease.
For fowl's sake… Couldn’t he have waited until we weren’t in the middle of a mission? I silently cursed, closing my eyes for a moment to regain my composure. I asked Scuzball to mute our mics, then pulled off my headset and turned to Mac, bracing myself for what she had to say.
“Lyra… what do I do?” Mac’s voice was soft, laced with a hurt that threw me off guard.
I bit down on my inner cheek, trying to figure out what to say. What do you say when you’re the one at the center of this tangled mess? How do you admit that you want them both?
“What did Stoneclaw tell you?” I finally asked, needing to know her side before I could figure out mine.
“He said he wants you as his mate and that he wasn’t opposed to sharing you,” she murmured, staring down at her hands as if they held the answers.
“Did he say anything else?” I pressed gently.
She shrugged, looking more defeated than I’d ever seen her. “I stopped listening after he said he wanted you as a mate.”
I sighed. This was going to be a long, agonizing drive.
“Mac, what do you want?” I asked, hoping to get to the heart of the matter.
“The same thing he does. To be your mate,” she replied, her voice steady but soft.
I damn near gave myself whiplash turning to look at her. She wanted me as a mate too? What was today, ‘Let’s Complicate Lyra’s Life Day’? I refocused on the dark road ahead, my mind spinning.
“How do you feel about sharing me with Stoneclaw?” I ventured, needing to gauge her reaction.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice tinged with frustration. “For the first time in a long time, I felt like I might actually have someone serious in my life. Then I find out there’s a dragon in the mix too.”
I could empathize with that. It reminded me too much of how I’d felt with Cameron. The question was, how did we navigate this mess?
“What do you want from this, Lyra?” Mac asked, cutting through my thoughts.
Biting my lower lip, I decided to be honest. No point in beating around the bush. “I want both of you,” I said, feeling a weight lift as the words left my mouth.
Her head snapped toward me, eyes wide in surprise. “You want us both?”
“Yes, but under one condition,” I replied, my voice steady. “I want you two to love each other as much as you love me.”
“Wait… what?” she squeaked, clearly taken aback. “You want us to love each other too?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “If I’m going to accept either of you as a mate—or both—then I want the two of you to also accept each other as mates.”
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She blinked at me, her expression a mix of shock and confusion, before turning to look out the window. We drove in silence for nearly an hour, the only sound the hum of the engine and the faint rustle of the night wind. Finally, she spoke again.
“You know I prefer women over men, right?” she asked, her voice tentative.
“I know,” I replied simply.
She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Stoneclaw is rather attractive for a man,” she conceded with a half-hearted grin.
I couldn’t help but grin back. “He is a catch, even from a wolf’s point of view. I’ve seen Charlotte and Sasha eye him like he’s a juicy steak.”
“He does have a sexy physique,” she admitted, biting her lower lip, “and even though I prefer women, that package he has… He’s the whole deal.”
I snickered at her honesty. She wasn’t wrong—Stoneclaw was packing.
“I wouldn’t even know what to do with it,” I muttered, half to myself. “Would it even fit?”
Mac gave me a look that made me feel like I’d said something completely foreign. She stared at me, eyebrow arched. “What?” I asked, feeling a little defensive.
“Lyra, have you ever had sex before?” she asked, her voice deadpan.
I felt my face heat up. “No…”
She shook her head, clearly surprised. “Lyra, are you telling me you’re still a virgin?”
“Yeah…” I mumbled, my face and ears flaming with embarrassment.
“Oh my gods! You’re serious!” she exclaimed, her excitement almost palpable.
I narrowed my eyes at her, feeling a growl bubble up from my chest. “I told you I was broken and had issues,” I huffed, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.
“Stoneclaw isn’t going to believe this!” she said, practically giddy.
“Mac!” I screeched, causing the rig to veer to the left. I quickly corrected, getting the truck back under control and glaring at her. “Don’t you dare tell him…”
“Oh, I am definitely telling him,” she said with a mischievous smirk. “This is too good not to.”
I let out a groan, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. This was so humiliating.
“On a serious note,” she began, her tone softening, “I’ll think about it, okay? This is a lot to process, and I don’t want to get hurt or used.”
“Okay,” I nodded, respecting her need for time.
We arrived at Camp Howling Wolf just after midnight, the drive uneventful but heavy with unspoken tension. Pulling into the camp, we parked in the same area where we’d originally set up shop on our first visit. Cameron had wisely moved the camp’s headquarters to a new location, giving us ample room to park both fleets without anyone feeling cramped.
Once parked, I didn’t bother getting out of my truck. Exhaustion weighed me down like a lead blanket, and I was in no mood to play the role of the responsible leader. I placed Steve in charge, trusting him to handle the evening, and retreated to my sleeper. Mac and I wordlessly helped each other undress, using rags and water to wipe away the grime of the day. Clad in my tank top and boy shorts, I sprawled across her, letting the familiar comfort of her presence wash over me. Despite the mess of feelings swirling between us and Stoneclaw, I couldn’t bring myself to send her away. She had my heart first, so she got the right to stay. We didn’t say much once we were in bed—just a few whispered words and a kiss before I nestled against her, letting the steady rhythm of her heartbeat lull me to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up to find the tables had turned—Mac was sprawled across me, her weight a warm, comforting pressure. My phone’s alarm blared, dragging me from the thin veil of sleep. I growled and reached over to my nightstand, snatching up the infernal device. It was barely seven in the morning. For Luna’s sake, I hated waking up early, especially after the emotional rollercoaster of the previous day.
“Ten more minutes, please, Babe…” Mac mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.
I kissed her cheek, my lips brushing her warm skin, before carefully extricating myself from beneath her. There were still over five hundred miles to cover, and once we hit Wyoming, who knew what we’d face.
“Come on, Mac. We need to get up,” I said, giving her a playful swat on the butt.
She let out a growl that quickly morphed into a screech, yanking the blanket over her head in a feeble attempt to ignore me. I shook my head, pulling on a fresh uniform before climbing into the driver’s seat. As I reached into the fridge, I was pleasantly surprised to find it fully stocked with my beloved Red Bull. Closing the door with a satisfied grin, I cracked open a can, savoring the first sip like it was liquid gold.
Boots laced up, I climbed out of the truck and headed to the MCV, where I found Steve and Catalina preparing a light breakfast. They had everything neatly packed into brown paper sacks and were handing them out like it was a fast-food drive-thru. Steve, notably, had swapped his usual Fluffer Nutter apron for a generic black one, while Catalina had claimed his usual. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, grabbing two sacks before making my way out.
I nearly bounced off Stoneclaw as he emerged from Mac’s bunk room, his broad back like a wall. He turned just in time to catch me before I could make a complete fool of myself.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice still heavy with sleep.
“Yeah,” I replied, noticing the grogginess in his eyes. “Did you sleep in Mac’s bunk room?”
“Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “As well as I slept, it was a mistake. My neighbors were... rather rowdy last night.”
I followed his gaze to Steve and Catalina, who were blissfully unaware of Stoneclaw’s twitching eyebrow. I stifled a giggle and squeezed past him, dashing out of the MCV to do a quick check on everyone. I urged them to hurry—if everything went according to plan, we’d be rolling out within the hour.
Returning to my truck, I found Mac already halfway through our pretrip inspection. I handed her one of the breakfast bags, leaning in to kiss her cheek before climbing into the cab. As I settled into my seat, I pulled up my email to catch up on the message chain between Cayro and Catalina from the previous night.
Catalina had forwarded Cayro all the photos of the fiasco with the 77th Armored Regiment, with Steve providing a detailed explanation of everything they’d done wrong. Unsurprisingly, Cayro was livid. If manpower wasn’t so tight, Colonel Sirus would’ve been out on his ass by now. The man was becoming a migraine-inducing thorn in everyone’s side.
Mac climbed into the cab as I was finishing up, digging into her breakfast bag with a look of mischief. She pulled out a banana, slowly peeling it before sliding the fruit into her mouth with a devious grin. I felt the heat rise to my face, quickly turning away in embarrassment. This woman was going to be the death of me.
"Behave, or I’ll make you ride in the MCV,” I huffed at Mac, trying to suppress a grin.
She chuckled, taking a playful bite out of her banana. I couldn’t help but smile back before donning my headset and toggling over to the MCV’s channel.
“Are we almost ready to roll out?” I asked, keeping my tone professional.
“10-4, Alpha,” Steve replied, his voice steady and reassuring.
Switching to the fleet-wide channel, I addressed everyone. “Alright, Dragon Fleet, we’re heading into unknown territory. The Chaos Reckoning has scouted ahead, and the route is clear all the way to Pine Bluffs, Wyoming. Once we reach Pine Bluffs, we’re on our own until we hit Salt Lake City. Set max speed to fifty-five miles per hour—let’s not leave the 77th behind. Same lineup as yesterday.”
A chorus of woofs confirmed the orders. I watched as each truck flashed green on my tablet, signaling they were ready. I waited for Scuzball to relay that the 77th Armored Regiment was good to go. It took them another ten minutes—typical—but eventually, the confirmation came through.
“Dragon Fleet… let’s make some noise!” I announced, my voice ringing out with authority.
This time, there were no blaring horns or blaring music. We simply slipped into gear and quietly left Camp Howling Wolf, the tension thickening like the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Everyone could feel it—we were rolling into the unknown, and the weight of that realization pressed down on all of us.
The two-hour drive to Pine Bluffs, Wyoming, was uneventful but heavy with anticipation. The Chaos Reckoning escorted us the entire way, their presence a brief comfort before they turned back at the Nebraska-Wyoming state line. Now, we were truly on our own. Scuzball did his best to monitor our route using satellite images, but with updates coming only every hour, it felt like we were flying blind.
As we rolled into Cheyenne, the sky darkened, and the heavens opened up, drenching the landscape in a relentless downpour. The black clouds loomed ominously, lightning crackling through the sky, illuminating the skeletal remains of the city’s ruins in the distance. The mood in the fleet grew tense, nervous chatter filling the comms.
“This storm looks like it’s going to be bad,” Cain said quietly, his voice betraying a hint of unease.
“No joke,” Charlotte chimed in, her usual bravado slightly subdued.
“Do you think it’s safe to keep pushing forward?” Sasha asked, concern creeping into her tone.
“Oh, come on, this isn’t the first time we’ve gone through storms like this,” Tyler snorted, trying to lighten the mood.
“This reminds me of that time Stoneclaw made us all fly through a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico,” Flamewing joked, his voice laced with amusement.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring up that particular memory. Darkhide nearly skinned me for doing that,” Stoneclaw growled, his tone a mix of annoyance and embarrassment.
“Oh, now you have to tell us about it, Flamewing,” Azura giggled, clearly eager for a distraction.
Flamewing started to recount the tale, but his voice suddenly cut off, replaced by a string of colorful curses, undoubtedly directed at Stoneclaw for muting him.
“Don’t be like that, Stoneclaw. Everyone’s on edge. A good epic story would do us some good,” I teased, trying to coax him out of his brooding. I could practically see him crossing his arms and glaring out the windshield, his dragon pride bruised. The image made me smile, and Mac, catching on, started to mimic his grumpy pose, making us both chuckle.
“As I was saying,” Flamewing huffed, regaining control of his comm, “someone left his go bag of books on an old oil rig. We had just managed to leave before the storm rolled in. We were halfway to land when he realized he’d left his precious bag of books behind. By the time we got back to the rig, the storm was in full swing. We battled almost two hundred mile-per-hour winds, rain, hail, and sea spray to get back. We had to hunker down on the rig to ride out the storm. By the time we returned to base, we were forty-eight hours overdue. Stoneclaw got a royal ass-chewing from Darkhide and lost two days of paid leave.”
Flamewing’s chuckle was contagious, cutting through the tension like a blade.
“Well, what happened to the books? Did you guys manage to recover them?” Kira’s curiosity cut through the comm chatter.
“Oh, we did,” Flamewing confirmed, his tone almost too cheerful. “That was until Darkhide flambéed them with his dragon fire right in front of all of us. Stoneclaw lost his shit and proceeded to get a royal ass whooping from Darkhide when he tried to attack him.”
A collective, “Ohhh,” rippled through the fleet at Flamewing’s tale. Even I knew better than to mess with a dragon’s hoard—it’s sacred territory.
“That was cold of Darkhide,” Jake commented, his voice tinged with sympathy.
“It was meant to be a lesson to all of us,” Icetail added, his tone sober.
“And trust me, it was received loud and clear,” Raptor chimed in.
“At least my hoard is useful and makes sense,” Ironfist boasted, his pride evident.
“Your hoard is nothing but a bunch of expensive red power tools!” a new voice interjected—Crookedfang, finally breaking his silence.
“Oh, shut up, Crookedfang!” Ironfist growled defensively. “It’s better than what you hoard…”
“Might want to stop while you’re ahead, Crookedfang,” Icetail advised, his voice dripping with amusement. “We’ve all seen your hoard, and unless you want us to tell the entire fleet about it, you might want to keep quiet.”
“Don’t hold out now!” Mac’s playful tone joined the fray, clearly enjoying the banter.
“It’s best if we didn’t say,” Raptor tried to defuse the situation, though his tone suggested he was holding back a laugh.
“He hoards purple sex toys. Preferably purple Bad Dragon sex toys…” Stoneclaw’s voice cut through the air with deadly seriousness.
I spat Red Bull all over my dash and windshield, just as Mac choked on her breakfast, her eyes wide with shock.
“Stoneclaw!” I shouted through my mic, trying to keep the situation under control—or at least my truck.
“What?” he responded innocently. “It’s true!”
“And this is why I don’t talk to you guys unless I have to…” Crookedfang’s growl came over the comm before he promptly muted himself, likely retreating in embarrassment.
The banter continued for a few more minutes, with various wisecracks about the dragons and their peculiar hoarding habits. It was only when I told Scuzball to play some music that the conversation finally died down. I had enough of dragons’ eccentricities for one day.
Mac, however, was far from done. She sat in her seat, struggling to contain her giggles, which only grew louder the more she thought about it.
“Mac… stop laughing. It could be seen as kink-shaming,” I warned, though a smile tugged at my lips.
“That’s what makes it so funny!” she wheezed, her face turning red from laughter. “Out of all the things that are purple he could hoard, he chose that! At least when he finds a mate, she’ll never be dissatisfied.”
I sighed in defeat. My pack never ceased to amaze—or embarrass—me, but that was just who we were. We were odd, eccentric, and absolutely unstoppable. After another three hours on the road, I decided it was time for a break. We were approaching the Rocky Mountains, and the temperature had begun to drop—a stark reminder that we were heading into treacherous territory.
We rolled into Point of Rocks, Wyoming, bringing the convoy to a halt. Climbing out of my cab, I called the fleet together. We needed to discuss the possibility of encountering winter weather, allow Scuzball to generate a weather forecast, and send Raptor and Flamewing ahead to scout. The last thing we needed was to get stuck or, worse, lose traction and crash.
This stop also gave everyone a chance to stretch their legs and regroup. Now that we were just over halfway to Salt Lake City, it was more crucial than ever to ensure we made it there in one piece.