Repatriation - Part 4 of The Vixen War Bride Series: The Vixen War Bride, #4

By Thomas Doscher

With the misunderstanding surrounding Ranger Captain Ben Gibson's marriage to the local Va'Shen high priestess, Alacea, finally cleared up, relations between the Rangers and the local occupied alien village have never been better. Because of this, Alacea believes it's the perfect time for the two of them to move to the next logical stage of their relationship: having a baby. For Gibson, this means one thing.

He needs to get out of town. Now.

Fortunately, he has the perfect reason to do so. Alacea has asked him to try to find out on what planet the village's commandos were killed so that the villagers can perform the proper funeral rites. Armed with a list of names he can't read and literally no information on where to start, Gibson and his interpreter, Lieutenant Patricia Kim, head off for the main air and space base on Va'Sh to begin the search.

But they are not the only ones with an interest in Va'Sh's missing commandos. A secretive organization is moving around in the background, intent on completely undermining the fragile peace between the two worlds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Doscher
• Release date: May 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201136482

Book preview

Prologue

Azarin readjusted the smoky-gray cloak and hood that protected him from the light drizzle pelting down on him as he made his way carefully over the rocky hillside toward the camp. Every so often he would hear the faint buzzing sound of the Dark Ones’ small flying craft, searching the hills and forests for him and the other members of the First Prince’s Storm Rifles. The small drones may have been flying too high for humans to hear, but Va’Shen ears were keen enough to detect their presence at a fair range. His cloak, given to his commando by the First Prince, were supposedly woven by the Great Ones four millenia ago and served to hide them even from the eyes of the Dark Ones’ machines.

He looked back at his friend and fellow commando, Tasshas, to make sure he was keeping up. He needn’t have worried. The dark-haired tod was only a few yards behind him, his hardlight rifle slung over his shoulder with a makeshift sling he had made from one taken from a dead Dark One’s weapon. Some commandos had been loathe to touch the Dark Ones’ equipment, afraid it was an insult to the Gods or the Great Ones. After all, they had, as the nobility told them, provided all they would need for the war. That said, some of the gear they had found on fallen Dark Ones was incredibly useful. Azarin, himself, found the many-pocketed bags they wore on their backs incredibly convenient. Some even contained soft bladders filled with water and a tube that allowed you to drink from it whenever you wanted.

Azarin did so now, sipping at the water as he continued to walk. The cave entrance was not far now, and there was much he needed to report. As they neared the group of gray-green boulders that both marked and masked the entrance to the cave in which the commando had set up camp, the silver-haired Va’Shen looked up, checking the overcast sky for floating eyes. Seeing nothing but more clouds and drizzle, he bent down at the end of a cluster of interconnected blue tree branches that resembled an oversized tumbleweed and rolled it to the side, exposing the small hole that served as the cave’s entrance. He handed Tasshas his rifle and pack and crawled through the hole, once again grateful that he was not a very large tod and rail-thin.

Once he was through and had slid to the floor, the cave opened up, and he was able to stand. He turned and took his pack and rifle back from Tasshas and then took the other commando’s gear from him so he could follow. As Tasshas collected his gear, Azarin took out a small jar of water and put a handful of crystal-clear rocks into it. As the rocks began to glow, he raised the water lamp up and found a sentry standing not far away, his hardlight rifle not quite pointed in their direction.

the sentry said.

Azarin replied.

Satisfied that the two commandos were not some trick of the Dark Ones sent to infiltrate them, the sentry’s rifle lowered a few more inches, and he stepped aside to let them through.

the guard asked them as they made to pass.

Tasshas informed him.

The sentry’s brown, fox-like ears drooped at the response, and the two commandos continued down the tunnel.

Azarin led the way, weaving between rough crystal stalagmites that jutted up like a natural obstacle course placed there to delay invaders. The only sound that could be heard in the dark cave was water dripping from above them. They continued. Further. Deeper.

When the tunnel opened up into a much larger chamber, the light from the water lamps and torches all around it almost blinded them. Water continued to drip from the high ceiling, leaving no part of the chamber unmoistened. Tents made of cloth or animal hides from back home ringed the cavern, leaving a wide, open space in the center where a small fire fought back against the dripping water.

Azarin grunted in approval at the sight of the rest of the corporals sitting around the fire, deep in discussion. It saved him the trouble of rousting them all. He called out to them as he and Tasshas approached.

a much older tod with deep auburn hair declared as he stood up to greet them.

Azarin’s dark gray-colored ears twitched once, just enough to acknowledge the joke, before the commando knelt down at the fire with the other corporals. He looked up at the older tod, who remained standing and was looking down at him with some concern.

the old tod concluded.

Azarin told him.

another corporal with the same shade of red hair as the old tod asked.

Tasshas replied bitterly.

The other commandos around the fire hissed at the disappointing news.

the old tod pointed out, trying to put a more positive spin on the news.

another corporal muttered from nearby.

Azarin’s ears drooped at the reminder. The Storm Rifles’ primary target had been a Dark One base to their east where the murderous aliens based their aircraft. The little flyers were bad enough, able to see them and report their presence to the Dark Ones. But these craft – larger and crewed by Dark One pilots – carried explosives that could be dropped on them from above.

And worse than that...

Azarin began,

the old tod prompted him.

one of the corporals asked in amazement.

Azarin responded calmly as the old tod watched his reaction.

the red-headed corporal reminded him.

Azarin said, looking up at the collection of shocked ears around him.

a corporal on the other side of the fire spoke up.

the old tod spoke up.

one corporal pointed out.

the old tod, the Storm Rifles’ captain, announced.

Tasshas suggested.

the red-haired corporal cut him off.

Azarin took a breath. He was right. In the beginning the commandos were able to sneak into Dark One camps easily, wreaking havoc and death inside their own walls and escaping just as easily. But as the war went on, the Dark Ones had adapted. Their machines’ eyes were everywhere now. Their perimeters further out and anything taller than a blade of grass between the fence-line and their camp cut down to nothing. The Fire Daggers’ losses at the Dark One artillery base proved how much things had changed.

One corporal, a slightly older tod with brown hair and fur, spoke up for the first time.

The captain looked at him.

the other tod pointed out.

the red-headed corporal asked. buy their skycraft from them?>

Orein quipped in response.

the captain quietly chastised.

the corporal replied quietly.

Orein bowed respectfully to the old tod and continued.

the captain agreed.

The old tod had an answer ready. he replied. he added with a wiggle of his ears.

Other ears twitched around the fire. The joke had been very much needed.

Orein turned to the others.

Murmurs of agreement answered him.

Orein asked.

a corporal said.

Orein said. every skycraft broke?>

Bao Aren concluded.

Orein finished.

The captain thought on this.

Tasshas asked.

Azarin said in reply. The others looked to him and he explained.

need those bubbles to fly,> Dan Huun pointed out.

Azarin asked him.

a corporal pointed out with a hint of excitement.

Azarin suggested.

Bao Aren announced.

At some point in the conversation, the suggestion had morphed into a course of action. Azarin looked at Bao Aren, his ears pointed to the cave ceiling. he asked.

the captain reminded him.

Azarin conceded.

Bao Aren said.

Dan Huun reminded his father.

the captain told Azarin.

The others voiced their assent and rose to leave the fireside. As Azarin stood, Tasshas rested a hand on his shoulder. he asked.

Azarin told him.

Tasshas quipped.

Azarin ignored the comment.

* * *

Azarin and his corporalship of twelve commandos parted with the main group shortly after assembling outside the cave and set off to the southeast, intending to enter the hilly terrain that ran south of the Dark Ones base in hopes of avoiding detection. The indigenous vegetation was of different colors than what he had known on Va’Sh, but the shapes and sizes were similar. Tall, dark trees with verdant green leaves shaped like six-fingered hands concealed them from the air while thick, blue-green bushes of prickly straw hid them from any patrols that may have been operating nearby.

Together, the twelve fox-men moved through the forest like ghosts. No sounds were made, no words spoken. Their sensitive ears could hear everything moving around them while the animals in their path had no idea they were there until they were practically on top of them.

When the bushes finally gave way, Azarin found himself on top of a steep hillside at the very edge of the Dark Ones’ perimeter. Stretched out below him was nothing but a flattened moonscape pock-marked with the occasional crater from a mortar round. In the distance, he could see a chain-link fence topped with coils of razor-sharp E-wire, an obstacle his tods had become far too familiar with. But past that was an artificial concrete road that seemed to run all the way to the horizon. Parked to the right of that long road, each with their nose pointed toward it and lined up as if on parade, were the Dark One’s sky flyers.

Each of the demonic machines was painted a cold gray with the aliens’ strange lettering only a slightly different shade making it blend into the wings and tail. The glass blister near the nose seemed to shimmer an incandescent gold as the light from the runway lights bent and curved as it passed through it. Azarin’s ears picked up the high-pitch whistle from the aircraft, letting him know that one of them was powered up, either preparing to depart or only just arriving.

he ordered.

The commandos took up positions on top of the hill, the shooters laying down on their stomachs while the rest helped by putting their packs under the barrels of their rifles for support. Azarin laid down on the far right while Tasshas did the same to his left. Hardlight rifles didn’t come with scopes, and the devices would have bewildered the Va’Shen soldiers. Instead, only the commandos with the keenest eyesight and the best shots were shooting. Most of his shooters were Hunters with years of experience laying in the forest and taking meat from a distance.

one of the Va’Shen assistants whispered to him as he knelt next to him, keeping his eyes to the sky in search of mechanical eyes looking back.

Azarin whispered. The faint order was easily heard by the other commandos.

They waited, each of them sighting in on their assigned target, given to them by order of distance based on skill. The best shot of his corporalship would take the furthest aircraft while the worst of his shooters would take the nearest. Azarin rested the sights of his rifle on the third aircraft in the row.

It started with a crack far to their left. Hardlight rifles made a sound when they were fired, but it was so low that you couldn’t hear it at a distance. But the Dark Ones’ weapons were made deliberately loud to drive their Va’Shen opponents mad. This crack came from one such weapon.

And then others.

A staccato of cracks and roars floated over them as the Dark Ones’ weapons at their main gate defenses opened up on the Va’Shen diversion. A wailing alarm began at the base, alerting the Dark Ones inside of the beginning battle. Azarin glanced to the left side of the air base and watched a cloud of green lights rise from within the perimeter fence. The small drones, each armed with a small machine gun, flew toward the diversion like a swarm of angry hornets, ready to descend on the attackers and annihilate them from multiple directions.

Azarin hissed.

Lances of blue light erupted from their rifles, striking the fighter jets. Each commando knew to target the glass blister at the front, but at this range even the best shot could miss. The firing continued. Azarin could see his shots impacting his target, but the glass didn’t shatter. He couldn’t tell if he had damaged it or not, but he knew he hit the cockpit.

One of the aircraft toward the back moved forward onto the runway, intent on taking off and joining the battle. It turned its nose toward them, and the wings rotated up ninety degrees in preparation for a vertical take-off.

Azarin shifted his aim toward the jet and rested his sights on the cockpit. Stilling his breathing and his heart, he touched the trigger button, and the lightshot raced toward its target, hitting the glass dead center. The inside of the cockpit turned black as the shot punched through the pilot’s skull and flash-vaporized its contents, causing an explosion of gore. The aircraft, which had still been rolling, continued to do so until it slowly veered off the runway and into a ditch, its engine still running futilely.

one of the spotters called out.

Azarin hopped to his feet and grabbed his pack. Turning, his ears flew straight up as the cloud of tiny green lights turned from the distraction and were now heading straight for them.

he shouted.

The commandos fled back into the trees as the micro-drones descended on them and began firing. A blanket of 5.8 millimeter rounds tore into the foliage, shredding leaves and blowing chunks of bark off the trees. The drones chased the fox-men into the woods, the remote pilots deftly maneuvering around tree trunks and branches in pursuit of their quarry.

Azarin heard a pained cry from his right as one of his commandos was hit. He turned to help, but a swarm of the drones was already hovering over the Va’Shen sniper, firing down into his body. He said a silent prayer for the commando and continued to run.

He ran, literally, into Tasshas, and the two almost fell to the ground. Grabbing one another to steady themselves, they started running again, but came to a stop a few steps later.

Something wasn’t right.

Tasshas whispered.

Azarin’s heart froze in his chest. He grabbed Tasshas’s arm and pulled as he took off in a run again, this time running as fast as he possible could.

Azarin shouted at his friend.

He knew what was coming. The drones didn’t give up.

They were getting out of the way.

There was no hiss or whistle to herald the arrival of the first one. Just the explosion off to their right where the 155 millimeter artillery shell, lobbed by an electromagnetic railgun forty miles away, smashed through the trees. The concussion knocked both of them off their feet just as the sound of the projectile’s passage finally caught up. Two more impacts went off nearby. Azarin climbed to his feet, pulling at his friend’s arm. He shouted to Tasshas but couldn’t hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears.

Tasshas, dizzy and wobbly on his feet, followed Azarin as fast as he could as more artillery shells landed around them. Shrapnel, sand, stone, and razor-sharp shards of wood came flying at them from every direction as they ran. Their grey cloaks were shredded, and they bled from a hundred tiny cuts, none of which, miraculously, had done more than slice their skin.

Their luck was doomed to run out. An impact behind them lifted them off the ground and threw them through the air. Azarin hit a low tree branch and fell to the ground, dazed. He tried to stand up, but fell back down to the ground again, his world spinning as it exploded around him.

He looked up as he felt someone grab his arm. Tasshas was pulling at him. Azarin could see his mouth moving like he was screaming something, but he couldn’t make out the words.

There was another explosion from somewhere nearby.

And then there was nothing.

Chapter 1

––––––––

All right, everyone, thank you for coming, Army Ranger Captain Ben Gibson said in a bored tone. The thanks was obligatory. The meeting was nonoptional and literally no one wanted to be there.

Well, Ben kinda wanted to be there. This was the day they were going to have their first real strategy meeting since they arrived at Forward Operating Base Leonard three months ago. Now that he had a better feel for the base’s mission, the terrain and the Va’Shen people themselves, Ben was a little more comfortable talking about what they could do to contribute to Combined Joint Task Force Operation Unified Resolve’s mission in the occupation of Va’Sh.

He had, in fact, just gotten off his first phone tele-meeting with the CJ-3, the operations branch of the task force. Military engineers across the continent, including FOB Leonard’s contingent of Navy SeaBees, had spent the last month laying copper wire over thousands of miles in order to connect the vast network of military bases on this side of the planet. With the electromagnetic interference that saturated the enemy homeworld, more traditional methods of meeting, video telecons over smart tablets, was impossible. But wired phone lines, the kind used on Earth more than 200 years ago, worked.

Sort of.

Of course, in the military, nothing worked the first time. And so the meeting with the CJ-3, the task force’s first attempt to bring all the FOB commanders together for a world-wide update, had included Ben, two captains in the western provinces, a Navy commander who discovered later he was on the wrong call, and a very embarrassed executive officer at Jamieson Airfield begging everyone on the line to wait while they tried to find out what the problem was.

After twenty minutes of that, Ben hung up. If it was important, they’d send him a message or call him specifically.

But now was the time for the meeting he felt was more important, and he looked up at everyone around the cheap, white plastic table in the small temporary polymer building that served as their conference room. First Lieutenant Patricia Kim, of course, was there seated on his left. As intelligence officer, interpreter and de-facto second-in-command, it would have been strange, and even wrong, if she wasn’t there. The Korean-American woman’s long, raven hair was tied up in a ponytail that hung down to her mid-back, and her almond eyes were busy going over the scribbles in the notepad on the table in front of her.

On the other side of the table, directly opposite of Patricia, was Navy Senior Chief Petty Officer Chase Warren, the leader of the SeaBee engineers sent to support FOB Leonard. The middle-aged man was running his hand through the curly, dark blond hair on top of his head as he looked around the room. Although he wasn’t obligated to, he was doubling as Ben’s senior enlisted advisor since he was the only senior noncommissioned officer on the FOB, an oversight Ben thought criminal. Officers were good. NCOs were good. But it was the senior NCOs who kept the military running. Having only one to call on irked Ben greatly.

Seated next to the two of them, facing each other were his two staff sergeants, serving as platoon leaders for lack of any actual officers to fill the slots. Staff Sergeants John Ramirez and Jared Baird had met on their first day of Ranger School and had been inseparable since, although it was hard to imagine two more different people. Baird, a tall, muscular African American from Texas tended to be all-business while the much shorter, Vega-born Ramirez could literally be walking through the gates of Hell and still manage a joke about it. They had both been with Ben since the war began, first in his platoon and then later, in his company when he was promoted. He was grateful to have them with him.

Now if only Ramirez could stop getting captured...

Sitting next to Ramirez was the only member of the team in a Marine Corps uniform. Corpsman 2nd Class Mina Fletcher wasn’t in the Marines, but the blonde woman’s position as a Navy combat medic required her to dress like them so enemy snipers wouldn’t think she was special. She had replaced the Rangers’ previous medic, who had been medically evacuated to the Space Force hospital on Arcturus. Ben had been concerned the sailor wouldn’t be able to keep up with the Rangers, but so far he was glad to find his concerns unwarranted. Fletcher was used to holding her own with Marine Corps riflemen, and, quite frankly, didn’t take any of the Rangers’ shit either.

There were a few other E-5 sergeants and a few corporals rounding out the table, each doing the work of someone four or five ranks above them. It was a situation the Army would call less than ideal, but when you have to occupy and rebuild an entire planet of hostile aliens while Congress cuts the defense budget back home, you had to make do.

Anything good from the conference call? Warren asked.

They say you’re all doing a great job, Ben lied smoothly. And to keep it up.

Patricia smiled at that, but the rest of the table didn’t react in the slightest.

Today we take our first hard look at our overall strategy for Sector 13, Ben began. "There’s going to be a lot that, quite frankly, soldiers aren’t trained to do, and it incorporates some risks that soldiers aren’t normally prepared to accept. But we have a good group here, and our relationships with the locals are in a much better place than most others. If we’re cautious and capitalize on those relationships, I think we’re going to make a real difference here. But it’s going to take every last person on