Canis Fidelis: Harmony

by PseudoFiction

10.5

A dry heat choked the air. The empty compound was like an oven under the blistering desert sun. All that could be seen for miles around were scorching sands and smooth dunes seemingly untouched by man. The dry shrubs growing through the cracked concrete paving the low building’s perimeter stood motionless in the still air.

With the heat it was a wonder they didn’t spontaneously combust.

With the heat, Gunnery Sergeant Samantha Bellew was surprised her loyal wingman was still standing.

With a small grin, the soldier glanced away from the sights of her rifle and looked to her panting companion. Though to merely call him a man was probably being a bit insulting.

For three years the duo had been inseparable. Samantha and her wingman ate together. They slept together. They trained together. They played together. They fought together.

He could find things she couldn’t. He disabled the bad guys she was too slow to reach. She kept him safe. He kept her safe. They could count on each other. He was her loyal guardian. She was his best friend.

His name was Bungee. He liked breakfast, his squeaky tennis ball and to play catch.

He was a Military Working Dog.

Rising from her crouched position, Samantha removed a gloved hand from her rifle and patted her thigh twice – distinctly. All the while she rose to her feet and moved down the bare hall littered with rubble and banks of sand backed up against the walls and corners.

Recognising the silent command, Bungee swiftly and silently followed the soldier, keeping his head low and pointed ears alert. The canine jogged on his handler’s heel like a fellow soldier holding a point-man’s shoulder in preparation to breach a room.

Right behind them were the rest of the armed forces making up their team, soldiers one and all armed to the teeth and clad in fatigues intended to hide them in the sandy terrain while at the same time shielding them from the hostile sun; as well as hostile fire. Bullets and armour weighed down heavy on the humans, giving them little reprieve of the sweltering temperature causing sweat to soak their bodies.

Even Bungee was armed and armoured, kitted with the latest greatest K9 assault and recon gear.

On top of his wits and his teeth, the dog wore a midnight-coloured tac-vest not unlike that his master wore. The K9 Storm Intruder vest housed tough supportive straps acting like a harness, so Bungee could do anything his human comrades could from parachuting to rappelling down the side of a building. The double layer Kevlar lining under the tough Cordura exterior protected his vital organs from small arms fire and blades. Integrated was a wireless camera mounted on a foldable arm so Bungee could scout ahead of his handler and send back a crystal clear live feed of what he was seeing – even in the dead of night. He could even receive orders via a custom earpiece, so he knew if he was to proceed with recon or return to Samantha.

There was even a pouch reserved for his favourite toy.

Reaching the end of the hall, the group met a neat T-junction. To the left was a darkened section of the compound where the windows were shuttered and blocked creating a zone of poor visibility. To the right was a clear corridor of peeling paint and broken plaster with the harsh sun blasting through the open windows.

Marching to a halt, Samantha reached down and caught the back of Bungee’s collar with one hand, her other keeping her rifle level and ready to fire. Satisfied the dog was holding position with his head comfortably pressed against her leg, Samantha raised a hand to halt the soldiers behind her. They immediately threw themselves against the nearest wall for cover with their weapons pointed outwards and sweeping in overlapping arcs.

As the soldiers made that little section of the compound theirs, Samantha grabbed the arm on the back of Bungee’s harness and extended the recon-camera. Switching on the equipment she checked the receiver with a screen strapped to her own forearm. The screen lit up and revealed the view from Bungee’s camera, only just framing the top of his head and the tips of his ears.

Now she could send him off, but still keep an eye on him.

“Okay, buddy,” Samantha whispered scratching the dog behind the ears. “Time to hunt some bad guys.” Pointing down the darker end of the compound so the German Shepherd knew where to go, the gunnery sergeant kept her commands simple and direct. “Bungee, find.”

Having already been given the scent of their target prior to insertion, Bungee knew what he was sniffing for. Lifting his nose, he tested the dry air before lowering his muzzle to the floor and sweeping forward, his head bobbing from side to side in wide arcs.

Satisfied the camera was giving a good feed and Bungee knew what he was doing, Samantha waved the rest of her men up to begin their search for the objective in a different direction. Time was a luxury they didn’t have. If they didn’t hurry the HVT would finish what he was doing and might drop off their scope completely.

Bungee would be able to cover more ground on his own anyway, and his sharper senses made him more effective in the darker sections of the compound. In truth, keeping him on a leash was only impeding the mission’s progress.

Pausing only once, Bungee looked back to see Samantha lead the rest of the humans down the other way. Noting their direction so he could find them if he was called, the dog faced forward again and continued into the darkness.

His sniffing only ended when he had to exhale sharply. And then the sniffing continued. His pattern was steady and methodical. Sweep left, test the scent. Sweep right, test the scent. Rinse, repeat. It wasn’t training so much. The training had taught Bungee to search for specific things his handler needed.

The actual searching came from pure instinct.

Bungee didn’t even realise he was wandering through complete darkness, guided by smell and hearing. He would check each room methodically without trusting his eyes too much, testing the smells and sounds with a pause before moving swiftly on when he was satisfied the area was clear. The only sound he made was the dry snivelling noises emanating from his nostrils, and the soft click of his nails on the concrete floor.

Some might argue it was cruel to use dogs in warzones. And those were usually the ones who clearly underestimated the capacity, courage and determination of a dog dedicated to his handler. Every day, Military Working Dogs saved the lives of soldiers by boosting morale, sniffing out bombs and hostiles; even flanking and attacking unsuspecting enemies.

In return, handlers did everything in their power to keep their furry friends happy, healthy and safe from harm. Their relationship as almost symbiotic.

A well trained dog is more than just a military asset. He is a member of the squad. A brother in arms.

That dedication to protecting his friends and others from bad people makes him a warrior.

A soft sound caused Bungee to stop everything. His ears flexed, twisting to hone in on the sound as he stood with bolted attention. His alert eyes scanned the darkness, double checking the darker corners just to be sure. At the same time his nose picked up on a familiar scent. The tell-tale waft of sweat with a distinct pattern; a unique odour underneath the usual sour salty tones that was the smell of humans.

It smelled exactly like the old shirt Samantha had made Bungee smell on the helicopter ride.

Bungee waited patiently, taking in the scent to be absolutely sure. And then his sensitive ears picked it up again. Voices, the scraping of metal over stone, the percussion of fingers typing on a keyboard…

The tell-tale click of a rifle-bolt slamming shut.

Bungee stopped panting in an instant. Lowering his head as if ready to charge, the dog slowly stalked forward. Following the curve of the hallway he noticed the lighting change. The darkness seemed to recede as he saw an open doorway up ahead with sunlight spilling into the dark corridor forming a wedge of light across the floor.

The target’s scent strengthened as he approached; the noises of human presence growing clearer.

Silently the German Shepherd approached the doorway, keeping low to the ground. With his belly practically sliding over the dusty floor, the dog shuffled up to the edge of the door frame. Peeking his head around, he took in the sights with a little surprise.

The room was larger than any of the others in the compound. It was well lit by some battery operated working lights. There were no shadows left, between the working lights and the sunlight spilling in through the open windows and the holes in the ceiling. Shrubs grew in through the cracks in the floor, probably drawing dregs of water from the old plumbing, and the space was littered with old boxes, crates and chunks of rubble where part of the roof had collapsed.

There were men all around. Some on the high scaffolding erected like a watchtower on the far wall. Most were on the floor wandering between the scattered cover.

All of them wore recognisable uniforms. The same uniforms Samantha and the rest of Bungee’s friends wore. But Bungee knew they weren’t friends. These men were bad guys, and they were armed.

One in particular stood out.

He was standing in front of a large ring shaped device sprouting large ribbons of wire leading into the quietly humming generators. More tangles of cabling ran into the computer stack the man was working on.

The leader of the group seemed to have a glow about him. An aura, that drew in Bungee’s eyes. He recognised his stature, his build and his features. But above all, he recognised the scent.

Lieutenant Elliot Rourke; the target.

Shuffling forward around a little more, Bungee leaned sideways to angle the camera on his back around the door frame. Freezing like that, the dog waited for Samantha to check her live-feed.

It didn’t take long before Bungee heard her voice whisper through his earpiece.

“Bungee, stay.”

Shuffling back and out of sight in the shadows, the dog did exactly as he was ordered.

Soon enough he picked up a fresh scent. A friendlier, more subtle smell. A smell that made Bungee happy. The smell of talcum powder fighting to cancel out the sour sweat didn’t quite overpower the soft meaty odour of the dog-treats she kept in her back pocket.

Turning his head, Bungee saw Samantha and the rest of the squad catch up to him. Shuffling up to a seated position, the dog felt his tail beat the ground softly, watching their vague silhouettes move closer through the darkness.

In the dim light, Bungee could see his handler was smiling. The woman folded down the camera arm of his gear and gave the dog a congratulatory petting.

“Good boy, Bungee.” She praised, causing his tail to wag a little harder.

With a soft click of plastic she undid the straps holding the screen to her forearm and slipped the receiver device for the K9-cam into an empty pouch on Bungee’s vest. The recon gear wouldn’t be of any use anymore anyway, and to the big dog the added weight was barely noticeable.

Patting her leg, she ordered him to stay by her side as she signalled to the other soldiers to form up around the doorway. They did so quietly and swiftly in preparation to breach.

Bungee knew exactly how a breach worked.

The first in was the point-man, the one armed with the smaller looking, but louder sounding gun. He would sweep to the left, keeping his back to the wall as he took in hostile contacts and searched out better cover. The next in was Samantha, moving to her right to do the same, followed by the others.

And it was Bungee’s job to run a little ahead of the woman in case there was a bad guy close by who wanted to hurt his friend.

“One…” Samantha whispered.

Bungee trembled with anticipation. His ears pinned back as his chin was practically touching the floor.

“Two…”

Bungee’s tail lifted high, his legs poised to launch himself forward.

“Three…”

The point-man standing opposite Bungee and Samantha smirked with a downward glance to the dog. “Shepherds lead the way,” he snickered.

“BREACH!”

“BREACHING-BREACHING! CONTACT, TWO O’CLOCK HIGH!”

“MOVING…! TAKING FIRE!”

“RETURN FIRE, RETURN FIRE!”

Chaos, was the best word used to describe what happened next. Bungee was sprinting headlong through the gates of hell. Fire and acrid smoke filled the air. Metal projectiles hissed through the air as thunder rang in the dog’s ears. He didn’t dare look up. He didn’t like the sound of guns, but he didn’t like the sight of them either. The flashes of light were bothersome, and the smoke they gave off burned in his nose. But if he kept his head low, they wouldn’t bother him too much.

He couldn’t let the guns bother him. He needed to focus.

Bullets cratered the wall just above Bungee’s head. He paid it no mind hearing fresh thunder. Right behind him Samantha returned fire. Like her smell, the sound of her gun was gentler; comforting even. A distinct automatic pop-pop-pop instead of the guttural crack of the other guns. He took comfort, knowing that if she was firing, she was taking care of him.

Soon though, it was Bungee’s turn to protect Samantha.

Up ahead was a bad man intent on hurting Bungee’s friends.

He had emptied his gun into the wall attempting to zero in on Bungee and his friends while they laid down wide layers of covering fire. He had lifted his rifle over the top of a crate and fired blind for the most part, hitting nothing but environment. Breaking cover, he was looking to cut off Samantha while smoothly reloading his gun.

Within moments Bungee assessed the danger by the man’s armament, stance and direction of movement; escalating the urgency of his actions accordingly. Instinct and training joined hand in hand and the dog reacted.

Launching into a fresh sprint, Bungee didn’t let him finish reloading. If he finished, the bad man would fire at his best friend. Bungee would stop him before he could.

Leaping forward, it was as if the German Shepherd had grown wings and flew. He soared a good few feet through the air, maw open wide and lips peeled back into a snarl. His white teeth gleamed in the sun as he bore down on the enemy soldier.

And with a sharp snap, his fangs locked on the man’s forearm. Bungee’s weight dragged them both to the floor, the rifle fallen forgotten with a distinct clatter of metal on concrete. The moment Bungee felt solid ground under his paws, the dog pulled, sharply tugging his head from side to side.

The man screamed trying to punch the dog in the face and thrashing his legs. Bungee shook off the blows with ease, growling through the mouthful of sleeve and arm filling his mouth.

Samantha joined the fray, running right up to the man pinned down by the dog; she kicked him in the face as she passed. The man stopped struggling and Bungee instinctively let go feeling the enemy’s consciousness slip.

“Heel!” Samantha ordered loudly as she dropped to one knee and slid into cover behind an old metal crate.

Sparks exploded from the cover as rounds directed at her glanced off while Bungee shuffled into the shadow of the crate at her side. Despite the chaos, Bungee looked eagerly up at Samantha.

But there was no praise for his actions this time. She had a serious expression plastered on her face as she pressed her fingers against the hardened earpiece integrated into her helmet.

“Kilo-two-three to Baseplate,” the woman yelled into the mic hanging right in front of her mouth, “we have the target in sight! We have been engaged! Situation deteriorating rapidly! Request shoot-to-kill order, over!”

Through the gunfire and shouting – even the insulation surrounding her earpiece – Bungee could still hear a voice reply on the radio. “Copy that, Kilo,” it said. “Wait one.”

A short pause later a different voice called back. “Baseplate to Kilo-two-three, your orders are unchanged. The target is to be secured intact, do you copy?”

Frustrated, Samantha let her hand fall from the vox-controls strapped to the shoulder strap of her tac-vest. Gripping the side of the crate they used for cover, she narrowed her eyes and lifted her helmeted head over the top.

Directly ahead of her she saw the target work unfazed on his console. A round flattened against the ring shaped object by his side. Without flinching, the man continued typing, glancing between the glowing screen and the keyboard.

A distinct hum filled the air. The generators let out a fresh roar of life as static energy visibly manifested on some of the conduits clamped around the circumference of the ring. The smell of ozone thickened the air as bolts of energy connected the various chevron-shaped conduits forming a spider web of flickering lightning bolts.

Cursing, Samantha watched as a smooth layer of glistening tar-like substance spread over the webwork of lightning. Inch by inch a whirling darkness consumed the ring. It thickened, sucking in all the surrounding light, leaving a hole of pure nothingness standing in space before them.

Ducking back down as the armed hostile moving to the target’s side swivelled sideways and aimed a burst at her, Samantha clicked her vox again.

“Baseplate, the target just opened up the Ark!” the gunnery sergeant cried into her radio-mic. “We’re about to lose him! We’re under heavy fire! There’s no time! I have the shot; let me drop this fucker, over!”

The angry voice from before returned in reply. “Gunnery Sergeant Bellew, you safety that weapon! Your mission is to take the target alive! Do you copy!?”

“Damn it!” she hadn’t even bothered to delay in pressing the vox-button when she replied. She wanted command to know exactly how dismayed she was. “We copy, Baseplate! Stand by!”

Twisting around, Samantha returned both hands to her rifle and quickly assessed where the rest of her team was. Bungee lay unflinching by her side. The others were spread out across the chamber, each in cover and popping up to return fire on the thinning hostiles.

Taking a deep breath, she bellowed out at the top of her lungs, “COVER ME!”

In response every one of her team sat up and fired. The layers of overlapping suppressive fire thickened, filling the air with rounds. Enemies cowered as they were met by an unholy wave of metal death crashing all around them. Several hostiles screamed as they danced to a muted beat before dropping to the ground and laying still. The unlucky ones found themselves stuck in cover to face the continued wrath of Samantha’s team.

Without hesitation the gunnery sergeant bolted around the side of the crate; her boot-soles purchasing enough so her feet didn’t slip out from under her as she threw herself into a steep charge. Her rifle remained level despite the insane angle her whole body was pivoted in, and the weapon kicked twice in quick succession.

The enemy soldier stood by the target’s side flinched. The sling of his rifle pulled taught as the weapon slipped from his hands and it swung to his side as he fell unevenly. Landing in a heap, he dug his fingers into the sticky mess soaking into his left sleeve.

Skidding around the side of the metal crate right behind Samantha was Bungee. Digging his claws into the floor he managed to find a bit of grip and leapt up to the gunnery sergeant’s heel as she straightened up and marched closer towards the target.

He was an older gentleman still wearing the rank markings of an officer; probably just out of his forties judging by the cropped silver hair touching his temples. The flag pinned to the target’s sleeve was identical to the blue flag studded with a single four-pointed white star worn on Samantha’s sleeve. Even Bungee wore one pinned to his vest.

But the man wasn’t worthy of it like the gunnery sergeant and her dog.

“Lieutenant Rourke!” Samantha screamed, identifying the high-value-target. “Stand down!”

Lifting his gaze, Lieutenant Elliot Rourke turned away from the console he worked on to reveal the rifle hanging by his side, and the pistol holstered to the front of his tactical vest. Centred on his chest was another flag, identical to that pinned on his sleeve. The one on his chest had several names inked into it with black pen, as well as a patch of dried blood soaked into one corner.

At the sight of Samantha, the target gave a scowl before returning his attention to the console.

“I’ve almost brought humanity back from the brink of extinction, Samantha!” he replied while working on stabilising the Ark’s power-flow. “I’m not stopping now!”

Leaning forward a little, Samantha dug the stock of her rifle deeper into her shoulder. “The Ark Project was shut down for a reason! The cost was too great for a solution that might not even work! What’s the point in saving humanity if we lose our humanity in the process!?”

Satisfied the portal flickering by his side was stable enough for now, the older man stepped back, gazing into its light.

“The resource wars are killing us, Samantha! You of all people should know that! I’ve lost too many friends over nothing, and so have you,” he cried over the combination of gunfire and the hum of the Ark. Turning he faced the gunnery sergeant with a determined look in his eyes. “I won’t let man’s petty squabbles be the end of us! So either you stand down, or you shoot me...” his thin lips twisted into a sly grin. “Oh, that’s right. You can’t! You follow orders like a good little soldier, don’t you?” dismissing her, Rourke returned to his work on the console.

Gritting her jaw so hard she felt the tendons in her face stretch painfully, Samantha flicked her thumb over the safety lever of her rifle. “Lieutenant, don’t make me-…!” she didn’t get to finish.

What terrified her was the concept of disobeying orders. But as much as failing a mission terrified her, losing her friends terrified her more.

“Eat shit, bitch!” his voice yelled as he sat up from where he lay.

The man Samantha had shot in the arm while breaking cover had his hand closed around his sidearm. The weapon cleared his holster and was aimed directly at her. Samantha saw the motion over the sights of her own weapon and twisted the rifle to bear.

Everything seemed to move slower than usual. The man’s finger tightened on the trigger by the time Samantha’s rifle muzzle was only half-aimed in his direction. Her eyes widened as she realised she wasn’t going to be fast enough. Fire escaped the enemy pistol, propelling a bullet into the air…

And then a black and brown blur filled Samantha's field of view.

A canine yelp pierced Samantha’s hearing and she watched in terror as Bungee crashed into he ground at her feet, laying on his side with a rear leg kicking in pain. It only took a split second for her to realise the dog had leapt into the path of the bullet.

“NO!” screaming as she fired, Samantha laid a sustained burst of fire into the chest of the wounded enemy.

He kicked and twitched as nearly half a magazine pounded a good dozen holes in his body armour. Eventually, when the barrage of lead ended, so did he; slumping back with the offending pistol falling from his limp hand.

Throwing her rifle over her left shoulder, Samantha felt the sling pull taught and the rifle hang across her back as she dropped to her knees over Bungee. Her hands ran over the side of the canine’s ballistic vest as she tested the integrity.

Her heart skipped a beat when she realised Bungee wasn’t bleeding. Feeling a lump on his side, she lifted her hand to see a round flattened against the Kevlar.

Just as she considered celebrating with a smile, another piercing noise met her ears. This one was attenuated with pain however.

Both Samantha’s and Bungee’s eyes widened as they looked up at the same time. Rourke was facing them, his own pistol in two hands with smoke escaping from the muzzle.

Bungee was on his paws in an instant. Widening his stance as he growled, he stood ready to accept another volley of fire. He was torn between the decision of standing between his handler and another bullet, or charging and disabling Rourke before he fired again.

Only Bungee was left confused as Rourke simply turned away, holstering the pistol again.

The dog didn’t understand. The target had them in his sights. They were at his mercy. Why would he stand down?

Then Samantha made a noise.

It was a wheeze a first, then followed by a wet gag and a gargle.

Whipping around to face his handler, Bungee felt his heart race. Nothing else seemed to matter. Not the gunfire, not the bullets filling the air. Not even completing the mission.

His eyes were fixed on his handler as she grasped her throat with both hands.

Flecks of red stained the pale skin on her cheeks. Her eyes were wide with shock, and there was a darkness drooling out between her fingers. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Only more of the terrifying darkness.

Samantha fell back and hit the ground, kicking her legs as her whole body convulsed against her will. Bungee had no idea what was happening or why. Whining, the German Shepherd rushed over, throwing himself on top of his handler to serve as protection from the firefight still raging around them.

Looking down, he could see the fear in her eyes and couldn’t bear to see it. He was familiar with the emotion of fear, and didn’t like it much himself. He’d felt it plenty of times when staying at Samantha’s side in the thick of a firefight. He was feeling fear himself right now, watching more thick liquid pool the ground beneath the woman.

Then a spark of sobriety entered her eyes again. Blinking hard a few times, she gaped and gasped through the blackness filling her mouth. In that brief moment of focus she looked up to see a faithful protector huddle over her.

Seeing her faithful wingman, Samantha smiled… and then nothing.

Bungee whimpered, seeing the light of life in his handler’s eyes extinguish.

She kept him safe. He kept her safe. She was his best friend.

And then she was gone.

Lowering his head, Bungee nudged his cold nose against Samantha’s face. She didn’t react like she normally did when he woke her in the same manner in the mornings. She was supposed to flinch, then look at him and smile. She was supposed to tell him off for standing on her bed. She was supposed to move!

Bungee whimpered giving her cheek a lick. The taste of her blood was bitter on his tongue, made all the more bitter by the slow realisation his handler – his best friend in the whole wide world – would never talk to him again.

She would never walk him again. She would never feed him again. She would never play with him again.

She would never love him again.

Then it hit him, swelling up from an unknown place in the deep recesses of his psyche.

The emotion was so archaic he barely recognised it at first. Only once did Samantha ever need to tell him off, back when Bungee was still learning to be a proper Military Working Dog. He had barked during a stealth exercise, and Samantha had reprimanded him for it. It had been the last time he made such a silly mistake. It had been the last time he had felt sad because his handler was angry.

But now, the creeping sadness cornered him once more...

Before a new emotion clouded his brain. It was like an explosion, or a wildfire eating up all of Bungee’s training and instinct. It drove him, forced him into a frame of mind that demanded blood to be shed.

More specifically; it demanded Rourke’s blood be shed.

Bungee didn’t know it at the time, but that ferocious emotion taking him over was called anger. It drove him to peel his lips back into a venomous snarl aimed in Lieutenant Rourke’s direction. It drove him to seek out something nobody ever thought a dog would ever seek out.

Revenge.

Snapping at the air as he snarled, the German Shepherd slowly stepped off Samantha’s still body. Leaving her in his wake, the dog started with a slow walk, completely ignoring everything around him. The sounds of gunfire was muted. The scent of burnt gunpowder was just like normal air. His vision tunnelled.

He was locked on to the target. But no longer just the target in a mission. No longer somebody else’s target, a wanted fugitive or war-criminal.

Lieutenant Rourke had become a target in a new mission. He was the target of Bungee’s mission. And Bungee’s mission parameters were to see the man dead in the most visceral way imaginable.

Bungee broke into a jog as he saw Rourke had his back to him. The lieutenant was stepping forward, closer towards the pool of darkness centred in the giant ring known as the Ark. He didn’t see the dog coming. He wouldn’t even know what hit him.

Bungee’s jog escalated, and he launched himself into a sprint. His paws pounded the concrete in quick succession as he rapidly closed the distance between him and the target.

“Bungee!” a voice cried, barely piercing through the murky rage clouding the canine’s brain. “Bungee, wait!”

For the first time since he was a puppy in training, Bungee ignored all commands. More voices joined the first, ordering him to heel, ordering him to sit and stay. They ordered him to return to them, but he left their orders – like them – in the dust. Bungee didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care about living, he didn’t care about dying.

All he cared about was where on that murderer he wanted to sink his teeth.

A fierce bark escaped the dog’s throat as his maw spread wide. It was like he was demanding Rourke to turn and face him. Like Bungee wanted to see the life drain from the man’s eyes as he ripped his throat out. But even as he didn’t turn, Bungee leapt at the human’s back all the same.

His maw was open, front legs tucked against his chest with his tail trailing straight and streamlined in his wake.

Rourke took a step forward, his chest touching the surface of the rippling tar within the Ark.

Bungee’s teeth inched to the man’s neck.

And in a flash of light, they both disappeared…