Story and characters are copyright 2008-2009 by Eric Saldanha 

I started writing this story as an outlet for frustration and creativity. Eric Sheppard is my fursona, an individual who has lost everything, and like many others before him, turned to the military to numb the pain. This is not so much a war story as a portrayal of the relationship between Sheppard and Hall (Fictional). I’m trying a new angle: Healing the scars of the past, daring to lower one’s defenses, and most importantly, the struggle to forgive one’s self.  Sheppard’s personality is an exact match to mine. He represents me at my lowest point at the start of the novel...

Feel free to comment and criticize. I appreciate the input.

Staff Sergeant Eric Sheppard slammed a fresh clip into his rifle and leaned out from cover, sweeping for targets. The sun blazed overhead, a fire crackled within the blackened frame of the wrecked LRV, and sand, like wisps of smoke, drifted across the hot road and off the roofs of the low buildings. A light breeze lifted the grey fur on the back of the coyote’s neck. Blood stained the sand around the corpses of their assailants. Nothing else moved. He turned to PFC Dwayne Thomas and Corporal Lauren Hall.

“Hall, who did we lose?”

The usually attractive collie wore a very unladylike snarl.

“Sanchez and Johnson are KIA back there. D’souza needs a medic, and soon. Those sons of bitches caught us by surprise.”

He keyed his radio to the command frequency.

“Blue lead to command, we have met with an ambush. We have three furs down. Repeat, three furs down. We need a medical team and reinforcements, NOW.”

After a second’s pause, a calm female voice came through his earpiece.

“Acknowledged, Blue. Sit tight, help is on the way.”

“Make it quick. Out.”

Great fucking way to start the day, eh?

He looked around, saw no targets, and leaned against the wall, willing himself to relax. The minutes ticked by. Hall was trying to patch D’souza up. Eric did his best to ignore the servicefur’s groans of pain. He glanced at Thomas; the wolf’s tail was between his legs. His eyes darted from left to right, and he held his gun in a death grip. Eric sighed. The last thing he needed was for the private to freeze up on him.

  “Stay sharp, Marine,” He growled, putting a paw on his shoulder. “We’re almost out of this. Reinforcements are heading our way.”

Dwayne gave a start, then nodded. “Sir!”

Sheppard turned to the collie. 

“How’s D’souza holding up?”

She grimaced. “I’ve done all I can, Sarge. But without proper medical attention, he'll be a goner within a couple hours.”

Eric nodded grimly. “And you?”

She looked up, surprised. “I'll be okay, sir.”

“Good.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sheppard caught a flash of movement. He spun, shouldering the M4, and immediately saw the tube that was aimed in their direction. Everything seemed to slow down.

No time to make a shot, he realized, on the verge of panic. The fucker’s too far away and I won’t be able to zero fast enough…

He opened his muzzle and barked: “RPG! HIT THE DIRT!”

At the same time, a flash of flame burst from the end of the launcher, and the projectile, trailing smoke, streaked toward them. He heard Hall and Thomas dive for cover.

Stay up. Stay. The. Fuck. Up.

Sheppard strained against instinct and remained standing to adjust his aim. His finger tightened on the trigger as the rocket screamed past his head. He fired a burst, saw a spray of blood – he had hit his mark – and an instant later the world around him dissolved as the explosive detonated. The blast wave clipped him hard in the back, a roar filled his ears, and he blacked out.

Aargh. My head…  Eric opened his eyes, tried hard to ignore the pounding in his skull, and struggled to his feet as the dust settled. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest to the exertion, and it took him two attempts to stand. His heart hammered against his ribs; every breath was painful.

Well, at least the bastard can’t take a second crack at us.

He turned. What had been a wall twenty seconds ago was now so much rubble.

“Lauren, Dwayne, you okay?”

He watched as the collie climbed to her feet and brushed herself off. Apart from scratches and a couple of bruises, she appeared unharmed.

“Yeah, I think I’m alright. Dammit. Thomas wasn’t so lucky.”

The wolf lay curled up on the ground, his jaw clenched, grasping with bloody paws at his gut. Sheppard ran to him and turned him over. A jagged piece of shrapnel protruded from the private’s side, and he was shaking. Eric got a grip on the metal, giving thanks that it hadn’t gone too deep, and carefully removed it. The wound wasn’t life-threatening, but it would be painful as hell. He opened his kit, dressed and bound the gash, then pulled a needle and shot the Marine with a dose of morphine.

The wolf’s convulsions stopped, his breathing steadied, and his eyes closed.

He turned to see Hall staring at him, her blue eyes wide.

“Anything wrong, Corporal?”

“You’re bleeding, Eric.” She whispered.

He looked down at himself. Aw, great. Blood flowed freely from holes in the side and back of his armor. Parts of his fatigues were dyed a deep red. He hadn’t felt a thing.

“Damn. Do you have ANY idea how long it’ll take me to get these stains out?”

She looked at him like he was crazy.

“I can’t believe it. You’re cracking fucking jokes? Jesus Christ, Eric,” she growled. “You’re losing blood.”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, then yelped as his muscles suddenly contracted. He fell to his knees. Hall rushed to help him, but stopped when he glared at her.

“Go watch D’souza, Corporal. That’s an order,” he said, through gritted teeth.

As he attempted to stand, another jolt of pain hit him, stronger than the last. His vision flashed red, he heard shouts, saw the ground rush up toward him, and then everything went dark.

***

Corporal Lauren Hall saw him fall, and prayed that the injury wasn’t serious. She turned in time to see an LRV roar around a corner. It came to a stop and a group of corpsmen poured out. The collie guided them to the wounded, and went back to tend to Sheppard.

***

His body felt heavy. He was so comfortable; He didn’t want to open his eyes. He heard voices outside. Wherever the hell he was, anyway.

A female voice was saying:

“…wouldn’t let me treat his wounds, sir. He always was a stubborn SOB.”

Lauren? Okay, so I’m not dead.

He recognized the deep voice of Captain Mitchell.

“That’s how he got so far, Hall. But there’s a fine line between being heroic and being stupid-“

“-And that coyote is a typical, stupid male.”

There was a short silence.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, shit. Tell me I didn’t just say that out loud.”

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, Corporal.”

Eric forced his eyes open, and a few seconds later the familiar interior of the medical prefab came into focus.

He was lying in a hospital bed. Evening light filtered through holes in the roof. He pushed himself into a sitting position as the entrance flap of the tent opened, and the Captain and Hall walked in.

The C.O. of the unit was a cougar, perhaps in his late forties. In his prime, he had been an excellent Marine, and even now was one who preferred being on the field with a gun in his hand, to sitting behind a desk.

“Ah, I see you’re awake, Staff Sergeant.”

“Sir!” Eric attempted to salute, but his arms felt like lead pipes.

“At ease, son.”

“Sir, what happened to my squad?”

“They’re fine, Sheppard. That was a damn stupid thing you did out there. You could have been killed.”

Eric opened his mouth to argue, but the Captain raised a hand, and he fell silent.

“That being said, it was also damn brave. If it weren’t for you, they’d be dead.”

The coyote wasn’t sure how to reply to that, so he said nothing.

The captain’s expression softened, and he said “We just got orders from HQ. We’re all going home for a year or so, a fresh wave is coming in to relieve us. Rest up, recover; when you come back, I expect you to be in peak form. We ship in about two months.”

The noncom was unable to speak. The Captain saluted, and left.

Hall walked over to the bed and pulled up a nearby chair. His eyes flicked over to her, but he caught himself. The tendency to stare at her was a habit he’d been trying to break since he met her.

Hall sat down. “Doc says you’ll be fine, Eric. Christ… you had me – us – scared back there.”

“How are you holding up?” He asked her; she looked tired.

The collie laughed. “What the hell? The guy in the hospital bed asks ME how I am?”

He grinned. “Seriously.”

Her expression became unreadable. “I’m fine. Just… Don’t do anything that stupid again.”

The Hall he knew had a permanent “Fuck you” attitude. This sudden show of concern was out of character for her. He looked her in the eye, and saw a flash of emotion. Anger? Pity? Sadness? She turned away.

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” He asked.

She looked straight at him again.

“Tell me something,” she said. “Why are you so hard on yourself? Why does it look like you’re so determined to get yourself killed?”

He blinked. The question had caught him off guard.

“I don’t really have much to lose.”

 Her eyes flashed with sudden anger. “And you don’t give a damn about hurting the people who care about you?”

“There are none,” he said simply.

“There is one,” she replied. She had looked away again, her eyes were hidden from view.

The coyote froze.

His suddenly tense demeanor betrayed the abrupt turmoil of his thoughts.

If I tell her the truth, I know I’ll regret it later. There are never any easy answers, are there?

Sheppard had become extremely good at hiding his emotions. He allowed his expression to harden. A bitter, mocking tone was thrown in as an afterthought, to make himself seem all the more sincere.

“Oh. Really? And who might that be?” No reply forthcoming, he decided to push it a little. “ Let me guess. God?” He let out a cold, humorless laugh, hating himself.

I will NOT make the same mistake twice.

She stood up, her face veiled by shadow; he saw with grim satisfaction that her paws were clenched into fists.

“You’re a fool, Sheppard,” she growled, and walked out, leaving him sitting by himself in the dark, alone with the war in his mind.

*****