AND SO IT BEGINS ANEW!
365 INFANTRY: SPRING 2026 is HERE! Five more exciting chapters in the world of hot-rodding, hog-riding freedom fighters and the monstrous dystopia they war with. And with this being our final full year, it’s time for the action to ramp up on all fronts. Let’s check in with our friends on the Force...
He knew it would never ring. Or rather, he’d never hear from his hounds when he needed to. Every night, General Adam Knox was up late, waiting for a telegram that would never come. In its stead, he was finalizing plans. Plans he’d had been formulating for quite some time. Between the countless permutations of war A.C.E.S. devised–much of which had been smuggled through Intel–to his own knowledge of his wolves and machines, the General had accounted for everything.
Everything short of a blackout.
Not that Haven losing power hadn’t crossed his mind, it was just the shock of it all. To see that shining electric Babylon standing as an obsidian prison cell for the hundreds of thousands was quite the curve-ball for the old bitch to throw. And to know Agent Steele and Lita Ridgefield were still inside, left to face whatever A.C.E.S. could throw at them in her mad state, that was plenty to keep him up at night.
So he worked. The dark gray wolf worked away on his stratagems and case scenarios until his right hand cramped. He would’ve kept going had it not been for the hoof-tap clack of cowboy boots walking into his office, and the silhouette of a short red wolf in a fine black rodeo shirt.
“Adam, babe.” Atlanta grinned. “You’re doing it again.”
When he looked up from his work, he went to snap a retort, only to find the words stopped by two soft lips pressed close to his.
“Point taken,” he sighed, dropping his pen on the desk. “Angel used to have to drag me to bed too when things were finally going hot.”
“Drag?” his red-furred woman teased.
Knox threw his hands up playfully and got out from behind the desk. When he met Atlanta on the other side, he couldn’t take his hands off her if he tried.
“Alright, so I get distracted easy,” he smirked. “Anything else?”
Atlanta thumbed the towering wolf’s cheeks before answering.
“Just happy to help you unwind. They’re called after-hours for a reason.”
“Yup, heard that too.” He winked. “Your quarters or mine tonight?”
“Yours’ tough guy.”
They were there in a flash, the pale blue moonlight washing through the Venetian blinds as they fell in love all over again. Sure enough, she was able to peel away all the worries of the day. Each kiss, each caress. Didn’t matter which hand he held her cheek in; she savored his touch all the same. But even with his woman held close, the General’s mind still wandered back to the office.
“I just can’t believe this is how we’re going in.” he sighed.
Atlanta nipped tenderly between replies. “It was gonna come to a head sooner than later. Just be glad you’re prepared.”
“I know, babe, I know. I just...there’s one thing I want to do before it all goes up.”
He turned her head ever so gently to face his. She knew the question the second she looked into those gentle blue eyes of his.
“You really mean it?” Atlanta beamed.
The plain golden ring that slid from Knox’s pocket and onto her hand said the rest, the only reply left being her own passion for the man that let him know the time was indeed right. For that night, and every night thereafter until the real big day, that bed was the best damn place in the whole wide world. Not just for the thrill, the romance, but that moment every night he felt the warmth of his woman tucked beneath his arm, be it metal or gray. It was this final piece of his own private puzzle that let him know everything was in place for the real work to begin.
For all they knew, all the world rested in the flame of Agent Roger Steele’s lighter. The silver Zippo with the Knight’s head burned the tips of two cigarettes before being passed around from one hound to another. The first two were Roger and Lita’s, the rest to the remaining black-suit hounds that made up the last of Avenger’s Creed.
“Alright, sound off,” the spiky-haired hippie-punk sighed, smoke shooting out her snout. “Who ain’t dead?”
“Devon here,” came the voice of a slim, well-groomed white wolf.
“Benny,” chimed a deep-voiced black wolf.
“Rick Laitham, still security head.” answered the tan-furred hot-rodder.
“I make four, and you make five,” Agent Steele finished, the light gray spy answering Lita’s dragon’s breath with a puff of his own. “Well, we can’t stay holed up in your dungeon forever, so let’s take a look outside and see how things stand.”
Lita nodded, producing her own lighter and stepped out the front door of her sanctum. She felt for the Red Devil’s hood, and sure enough, he was still there.
“Good boy,” she whispered to the blood-colored Bug.
The dark gray wolf turned to face the city beyond the alleyway. The sight was beyond belief.
Every building, every road, every lip of the sidewalk was jet-black. Not a spot of a cool streetlamp white nor the cobalt color that had painted the city for centuries. Total darkness. Every skyscraper stood a towering void, every street lamp faded into near-nothing. All dark… safe for one feature; the edges were white.
It was as if the city had been broken down to its wire-frame.
“Roger, what the hell did you pull off?” Lita muttered to herself.
“Nothing.”
“GYAH! Don’t sneak up on a bitch like that.”
“I’m a spy, sue me.” Agent Steele teased, resting a gloved hand on the hippie-punk’s shoulder. “As for what I did, that’s the truth. All Knox wanted was the server farm, all I did was find the server farm, and I would’ve had the coordinates shot back to him had she not pulled this stunt.”
“Well, let’s get to option-weighing time.” Lita replied between drags off her lung dart. “Me and the boys just topped off our tanks, so we’ve at least enough gas to get us from here to the city’s edge, if not some extra to burn prowling around and for a synth station hunt on the outside. But I don’t like the idea of not knowing what she’s up to. And of course there’s that.” She pointed a half-gloved hand down the blackened street before finishing. “You can’t see out into the desert. She’s bricked the whole force-field network from the inside like some ass-backwards tinted glass.”
Roger looked both ways down the street before answering. “I’ll give you three guesses. Number One: ding-dong the witch is dead, which means this whole operation is about to turn to nanobytes in due time (bring a fly swatter). Number Two: she’s still alive and pulling that same Empire Square psych shit. Some last-minute mind games she’s enacting for reasons known only to her. Number Three: this is it.”
Roger paused as the thought visibly struck him. Lita turned towards him, his face blank in the light of their two flames.
“You mean?” Lita began.
“That crazy bitch might’ve just hit the big upload button.” came the reply. “Anyone with an active chip in their neck is flying high in the silicon sky, living it up on that Second Plane; cyberspace. If that server farm is still live, you got hundreds of thousands of digital souls sitting there. Maybe–actually, to hell with maybe. She definitely has a layout of her own damn town. Odds are she’s made her own digital Haven for everyone to keep on keeping on. Lord knows how long she can keep those organic bodies fresh if we can get her to hit the big download and bring the city back online.”
The two leather-clad wolves looked at each other with the weariest eyes, Lita’s reds and Roger’s steely blues aghast at the thought. The hippie-punk broke the silence with an ultimatum.
“So here’s the coin-toss question: do we book it for the border and tell the General and his gang to hightail it the fuck out here, or do we make it to those coordinates ourselves and get this city back online? ‘Cuz man, vendettas or none, I ain’t leaving a whole city for dead. I just ain’t.”
Agent Steele sized up the quintet of cars at their backs. “Safest bet is breaking out to break back in. Even on a full tank, batteries included, I don’t know if we have the gas to make it to the server farm and get the hell outta Dodge. That said, I’d wager a bet Knox is coming hell or high water right now. We’re kissing a week of radio silence on our end, the city’s changes are bound to have tripped the surveillance feeds. We’re just gonna have to explain the whole damn ordeal when they get there.”
“Got an ETA?” Lita quizzed.
“When that army gets up to speed, they can clear the desert in under 48 hours. It’s just a matter of when they start and if everyone plays nice. The weather, the land. Its inhabitants.”
Lita sensed a bit of bile in the last word. “What? That Council of yours ain’t shaking so good?”
“No, it isn’t the civilized who’ve been causing all the trouble.” Steele replied. “We’ve got gangsters, thugs, and world-burning idiots out there just like in here. Speaking of...how many unchipped hooligans do you think we’d have to go through to get to the server farm. How many laser rounds per shit-heel?”
Lita pursed her lips and counted her fingers before feeling the iron-weight of Roger’s hand on her shoulder.
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I, I did the math one time,” came her nonchalant reply. “Takes three rounds usually, one if you can get them in the head or heart.”
Roger rolled his eyes. “Point is: we got a lotta X-factors at play. The next move is gonna set the whole deal in motion. We gotta pick the best one.”
“So a coin-toss then?” Lita grimly smirked.
Agent Steele pulled an old-school American quarter from his pocket.
“Heads we make for the border, tails we gun for the farm.”
With a flick of his thumb, the silver coin flew into the black of night. When it landed in Roger’s hand, he held it to the lighter’s flame so they could both see the result.
“Well.” Lita nodded. “That’s that.”
“COMPANY! TEN-HUT!”
Every last hound stood at attention as the dark gray General strode before them, donning another of the late Godred’s striking black military jackets. He had gathered the whole of Base inside the courtyard, from the height of Top Brass to the greenest recruit. Behind him stood a blown-up map of the desert, with a straight, blood-red line drawn from the Base to Haven.
“The goal is simple,” he began. “To cut clear across the desert, make it to Haven as soon as possible, and then to assess the state of the enemy. All who stand against us will be brought to heel or put to death. Whatever is left of A.C.E.S. and her madness will be brought to heel or put to death. We have war machines fit for the task. We can cover the land and the skies–and had it come to it–the water. Most importantly of all, I have the firepower, horsepower, and will of every hound standing here in this courtyard, now don’t I? DON’T I!?”
“SIR YES SIR,” echoed the crowd.
“Damn right I do,” the General nodded, a playful smirk splitting his muzzle. “But I do think we need a little reminder of why. When you spend enough time in the trench, you can lose the big picture, and let’s just say we’ve been hanging down here for quite some time, now haven’t we?”
He clicked a button on the podium’s remote and the map behind him turned to horror. First came photographs from the war’s early days; the bombing of the Marshall Settlements that birthed the canyon they needed to cross in order to invade. Then the terrors wrought upon villages farther and farther out. Then the mass graves, first for the denizens of the desert. Then for the soldiers buried in West Arlington, spare white crosses numbering in the thousands, spreading on for what looked like eternity within the frame.
“It is in their memory we fight, their honor that we ride, and for the sake of the living that the only souls sent to join them are those who fight and ride to end this reign of terror from long, long ago. I want every last one of you to brand these images upon your mind. Burn them deep, and never let them go. Add these as well.”
The next slew of photos were more pleasant. Everything from photos of loving families to titanic achievements of wolfkind. Every great monument, every great invention, every small moment of bliss. From a pup in their mother’s arms to the first hound on the moon, his blinding white spacesuit radiant against the gray landscape and the black of space.
He let the slides cycle through as he continued his rallying cry.
“Now is the dawn of a great nation to be. A nation that once was, a nation that can be again. And it is on YOU. EVERY LAST ONE. To make that dream a reality, to seal that promise of true, honest-to-God freedom. Today we prepare, and in a few days’ time, we ride. Get your asses ready, and THAT’S an order!”
The entire courtyard erupted in applause, joyous screams, and a guttural chant of “USA! USA! USA!” And true to his words, the remainder of the day and the days leading up to the final attack were all devoted to steeling the Force and forging ahead with the plans.
At HQ, it meant training twice as hard and riding twice as fast. Drill instructors like Lieutenant Gibson Blanc were working their recruits to the bones and back, getting the greens caught up on the essentials and the more seasoned privates honed to a fine point. By now, the tan-furred hellion himself enjoyed a maturity that came with his many tours and escapades, one that gave even his sharp voice a piercing quality. If the Force lasted into whatever new age they were racing headlong towards, he might even join the Top Brass. But in truth, career advancement was the last thing on his mind.
During lunch at the Mess Hall, he caught sight of his dear Evelyn and made a B-line for her.
“Well howdy, howdy big guy.” she beamed, popping a kiss on his cheek. “How you–hey, what’s up?”
There was a sullen look on his face that couldn’t be missed.
“It just kinda hit me,” he said quietly, staring into jet-black coffee. “Not just this being it, y’know, but going back. I ain’t seen my folks in God-knows how long, and… I don’t know if they’re even gonna be there… y’know?”
He was met with the only thing that earth-toned tomboy knew; her own, smothering love for the guy. She didn’t say anything at first, just wrapped both arms tight around her hound. Then she laid it all out as best she could.
“I know it’s funky coming from me,” she said, “but it’s okay to be feelin’ that way. Lord knows we got plenty folks probably going through them motions after the news of what happened. You just gotta keep prayin’ it all works out in the end. And if it don’t… you keep going. You keep them livin’ everywhere you go. When it’s all said and done, and we don’t need to be fighting no more… well.”
When she batted those come-get-me eyes, he couldn’t keep a straight face to save his life. He pulled Teddy into his lap and fell in love all over again.
“How crazy you want ‘em?” he teased.
“Seeing as I’m the one popping the pups out? You can keep your crazy, my tank’s full.”
It was good having a gal like her around. And while plenty of couples were staying on Base, the time had come to send two very special couples and their friend on their way.
Entering Knox’s oak-lined boardroom came his five Cazadores. A shaggy, denim-clad Valentina and her gray fighter Brennus, the red lovers Marcus and Sabina, and the gray cyborg Jovian as towering as ever. Marcus and Jovian still retained their long flowing locks, and all still wore the sandals left to them at the dawn of their blood-sports.
“Now it’d be rich of me to just say ‘it’s time’ and to send you on your way,” Knox began. “But we’re gonna have to ask you to do us a favor, on top of peeling back and destroying the titanium border.”
In lieu of past tirades, Val simply looked down her Aviators and nodded. “I’m all ears, chief.”
Knox flashed his copy of the Haven surveillance footage held in his silver hand, the city carved in black against the clear blue sky. Their jaws all slackened at the sight.
“I got men inside of that.” he continued. “Men I want alive. After you’re done serving just desserts to the circus, we need to make sure they’re safe, sound, and have the information we need to find the server farm housing A.C.E.S.”
He slid the files across the table. “That means Lita too by the way. She’s in there alongside Agent Steele and any operatives within the Avenger’s Creed network at the time of our most recent e-cable.”
“Do you still have our coordinates?” Marcus asked softly.
“Never lost ‘em.” Knox winked, passing the last of the files over. “Punch those in and that’s where X marks the spot. I make no guarantees of what you’ll find there because we simply have no idea what’s been going on for the better part of a week now. If it’s there in all its glory, you know what to do. If not, sew salt on the earth and get my hounds. Got it?”
While his soldiers would belt a hearty “SIR YES SIR” at him, the cool deferential nods set the tempo of this final mission, one Knox met with the same energy.
“Godspeed you tough sonsofbitches.”
He was about to see them out the door when the last sound he wanted to hear right now came blaring through the hallways.
“CODE EMG. CODE EMG.” roared the PA system. “ATTACK ON VILLAGE OF ROCA ROJA! I REPEAT! ATTACK ON ROCA ROJA!”
“Jesus H,” Knox bellowed. “That’s Grim’s hometown!”
With only their headlights to guide them, the remains of the Avenger’s Creed began their trek towards the heart of it all; the server farm. Roger passed around dupes of the map made with his pocket data reader before they set off.
“This has the complete package,” he reassured, “it’s all set to run locally on your ride’s navigation system since we’re short a few satellites at the moment.” He gestured flippantly at the black everything about them. “Any questions?”
“Nope, just a few simple orders,” Lita added, running her fingers through her mohawk. “Stay sharp, stay together, and if anyone gives us shit, you give ‘em hell.”
“Yes ma’am,” the Creed’s remaining agents replied.
“Alright, this is your floor show, Roger. Lead the way.”
And off the three rides went, first Agent Steele’s slick black Charger, then the bloody Bug, then the rest of the pack stuffed inside Rick Laitham’s deep-blue Camaro. Seeing him in the rear-view kept Lita’s mind at ease as they followed Roger’s lead.
“Hmph,” she scoffed to herself, “Ricky’s ride bout the color the city used to be at this hour.” When she looked down at the clock to see that it was 10:19 in the morning, she just shook her head. “Well, my Little Man, keep sitting pretty in this dude sandwich. Save your stuff for when we gotta some B.S. to kill.”
At first, there wasn’t a drop of bullshit in sight. There wasn’t anything in sight, but thanks to their headlights and the localized map, navigating the blackout proved quite easy. It didn’t stop shivers rattling down each hound’s spine as they saw the leviathan towers of their hometown standing silent and derelict. On turning a corner, the cars’ headlights pierced the lower windows of an apartment complex and–for a brief moment–they saw the silhouette of a wolf, limp in their computer chair. The black brick on their forehead–a VR headset–and the black box before them told the rest of the story.
“How many you think signed up for this?” Lita asked Roger over the radio.
The light-furred spy was silent at first before answering. “Setting aside those cultish-types who got hooked on that Acc Vult transcendental nonsense–a cult of 12 if I’m not mistaken–not a goddamn soul. Not knowingly anyway. That fella in there was probably one of the 12.”
They kept catching tableaus like these as they ventured further down the block. Some were mere wolven bodies slumped in their chairs, some were rigged up like the first sighting, and others were even pressed against the glass.
The sight of a tan wolf’s glazed-over jade eye staring straight out the window of another apartment complex sent Lita’s lead paw gunning hard. She was just as quick on the brakes to make sure she didn’t slam into Roger’s ride.
“I’d laugh,” Laitham said calmly over the radio, “but I’d be lying if I said that didn’t get me too.”
“Well, at least it wasn’t a rat,” Lita teased, “then I s’pose I’d have to start screamin’ like a lil’ girl now won’t I?”
“My tan ass ain’t stepping in that, chief.”
“And that’s why I love ya Ricky.” She made a smooching sound over the radio before hanging up. It was levity like this that kept them as sane as they could, given the circumstances. Though not for long.
On turning the latest corner, Roger caught sight of two white lights dancing towards the hot-rodding cavalcade.
“Get your heat ready, but don’t fire until we know what’s happening here. They’re running at a crawl.”
Indeed they were, the twin lights taking their sweet time sallying down the street towards the Creed. They could’ve been the headlights of a car, two bikers just as cautious as they were, two hounds on foot. But the closer they came, the more it began to sink in; these weren’t signs of life. They were machines.
The white spheres of light moved through the street, hovering a good six or seven feet off the pavement. Periodically, they would move to the nearest window before falling back to their spot over the street.
“I’d put spending money on them scanning for vitals.” Roger said.
“The hell do you think they’re gonna do with us!?” Lita shot back through gritted fangs.
“They can’t do shit because we aren’t chipped.”
No sooner had he said it then came a scream from the apartment on the Creed’s left. The left-hand sphere flashed bright as the sun as a white-furred body slammed against the window, eyes wide with terror.
“Wanna try that again?” Lita replied.
Agent Steele didn’t answer; he leaned out of the Charger’s window, Mauser in hand, and started lighting into the twin spheres. He got the left-hand one dead-center, but the right finally broke from its programmed path and was on the attack, familiar blue laser fire rattling at the three hot rods as they scattered. Steele’s Charger was the first to pay the price for his curiosity, the sphere’s defense laser striking the car dead on the hood. Covering for him was Lita, who swung the Red Devil around the sphere’s backside and landed two clean hits with her monstrous silver Wildey.
It crashed to the ground in a heap of sparks and blue fire, then vanished into the black with the remains of its twin.
Lita leapt out of her Bug and bolted towards the Charger. She found a dazed, singed, but living Agent Steele behind the wheel of a truly black muscle car, for most of his electronics took the blow meant for him.
“Talk to me, big dog.” Lita panted, patting his cheeks. “You still there?”
“Yeah… yeah. Might need a jump-start by the looks of it.”
“Shit, brother, you need more than that based on what they could do with one hit.”
Lita waved Rick and his posse over. When they pulled up, the hippie-punk leaned in through the window and got to work. “You still got that all-purpose kit, Ricky?”
“Never leave home without it.” the tan security chief nodded.
“See what you can do for his poor girl and quick. I want to get the hell outta this stretch now that they gotta mark on us.”
Rick leapt out and dove through his trunk for the kit. Lita triple-checked Roger until he finally shooed her away.
“Didn’t know you cared,” he winked.
“Brother who’s been in the shit with me for 20 years is a lifer,” the scruffy punk winked back. “Don’t you forget it!”
It took him longer than he’d liked, but Rick was able to get the battery system reset and most of the wiring fixed. The second he did, Roger straightened up, turned the key, and led the others down the street and through their next turn. His displays were hazed with a slight static, but so long as they were legible, they were good to go.
The further they went, however, the more of those spheres they saw. Like the ones they had destroyed, they moved in pairs along the city’s grid, un-bothered by the three cars and their occupants. And as much as it made their blood boil, they couldn’t save every survivor unfortunate enough to get caught in their scan. All they could do was pray those still alive were smart enough to hide.
“What’s the ulterior?” Lita quizzed idly over the radio. “Our little rovers that is?”
Steele gave it some thought before answering. “Two ways of looking at it: they’re sent to make sure everyone’s dead and to take out the living. The flip-side...I think they’re making sure everyone’s alive. Those who aren’t comatose are uploaded, those who are must have some kind of life-support system rigged through the headset or the chip. Only one way to find out for sure.”
Lita took a long drag off her umpteenth cigarette and nodded. “Guess we’s gonna have to pop into one of these apartments and see for ourselves.”
Roca Roja; a model town too tempting for most. It stood as one of real thriving townships in the desert’s Central region. For that crime it was paying dearly as the mother of all turf wars broke out. In one corner, the latest batch of degenerate raiders, led by a mountainous white wolf with a bullring piercing and a jacked-to-Hell-and-back Chevy truck from the 50s. In the other was a familiar foe: a ragged platoon of Caza-6 androids. Scorched by fire but unerring in their aim, the vicious children of A.C.E.S. were firing on everyone–thug and civvy alike–with a reckless abandon.
By the time the Force arrived at a hundred rides strong, the devastation was already apparent and brutal.
Knox ordered two units to take care of cordoning off the town and cutting off support to the raiders and androids. Astride a thunderous Exciter, Gibson led the bikers while Corporal Jonathan Metcalfe led the drivers, the white-furred officer already making marks with the business end of his sniper rifle.
With a barbarous fury, the Moto Corpsman shot, bludgeoned, and stabbed just about every raider they could get their hands on, the wolven soldiers carving through the backup with everything they had. The Auto Corp–when faced with the obsidian androids–were all about firepower as they lit into the marching hoards. But to the officer’s surprise, they weren’t regenerating. Each felled android was engulfed in a ball of blue fire, its remains melting and twisting as more tried in vain to fill the gap.
“Metcalfe to all units,” he bellowed over the radio. “The nanotech on these Caza-6s is failing. They can’t regenerate. Light ‘em up and watch ‘em drop.”
With the outside enemies preoccupied, Knox led a band of soldiers down the side streets and towards the main. The town’s center strip was an all-out battlefield, the raiders and androids laying waste to storefronts and tenements.
From the cover of a saloon, Knox got out of his Cuda and waved his hounds on.
“Grim, you and your team take the raiders. Douglas, you and yours start breaking those Cazas’ kneecaps.”
Captain “Grim” Herrera slammed on the gas, his three-hound team behind him as they barreled headlong into the raiders.
The rust-bucket pack’s leader stared the black-furred vaquero down with a mad glee. “I eat bastards like you for breakfast!” he hollered, thumping his chest like an overgrown gorilla.”
Grim said nothing, he just kept his boot down and gave his men the signal.
The team opened fire and didn’t let up until every last raider was flat on the ground. They got as good as they gave, the creeps firing back and sending the drivers ducking as they kept on course. When the thugs realized they weren’t playing chicken, some tried to scramble back out the way they came, only to be met with the business ends of a dozen hellions’ guns with feral gleams in their eyes. The rest were met with the front ends of four trucks clocking 80.
Crushed between the wheel and his seat was the gang’s leader, the gray Chevy’s engine block shoved back through the cab. Staring down at him from his deep-blue Scout was Grim. The darksome hound leveled his rifle and pointed it square at the wolf’s head. Then came, from out the corner of an alleyway, the last voice he ever thought he’d hear at a time like this.
“PAPA!”
It was his Rosita, huddled with Soledad.
The second he turned his head, he caught a bullet right in the arm. Dead on. Then another. Then another.
The shots spun the wolf round and stung something fierce, Grim sent slumping down onto his seat. As he fell out of view, the scrawny brown bastard who landed the shot scrambled to aid his master, the gang leader struggling furiously to free himself from the twisted wreck of his ride.
Horrified, Grim’s hounds lit into the duo like the 4th of July, bodies twisting as they emptied round after round. When the soldier on his left got up to check on their fallen commander, however, they found no one in the truck.
“What the–”
In the chaos, Grim managed to crawl his way towards Soledad and Rosita, the black wolf propped up against the wall and lighting into any raider left standing in the assault. He was bleeding bad, but he wasn’t out for the count just yet.
That left Commander M.A.D. Dog Douglas and his quartet of bikers to round up the remaining Caza-6s, one the gray biker took to with glee.
“EAT SOME GOOD OL’ LEAD FOR A CHANGE YOU CLANKING SONSOFBITCHES!” was followed by a barrage of genuine bullets from his cherished Garand. The rest of his hounds were still rocking laser cartridges, but there was something to Commander’s mad fit of passion; he had packed tracer rounds for the occasion. And each bullet that made its mark was an explosive hammer-blow to the androids’ joints. Metal bodies and limbs were sent flying everywhere, including their fellow machines. And as the tin soldiers began to fall, the chain reaction carried on through the rest.
By the end, Roca Roja was saved, but just barely. The salvage crew was towing away the raider’s scrapheap while some of the truckers cleared away the rest of the androids. And though she had done her best for him–a torn piece of his button-up tied tight around the wound–but when Knox found Grim, he could see the black wolf was in a bad way.
“I WANT HIS ASS IN SICKBAY ON THE DOUBLE!” the General barked as he held the Captain’s hand. “Don’t you go fading out now on me.”
The black wolf’s eyes fluttered before he cracked a smile. “Don’t count me out so easy.” It was the last thing he said before he passed out.
“I SAID ON THE DOUBLE!”