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Life was simpler before blowtorch fever and TFOR came into the picture. There were no "talking animals", "anthro's" or any of the other strange forms that teefers take. Nope, just humans. But then, there wasn't the NAR, the Republic of Texas was just another political division within a country called the "United States of America". But technology was booming, people were everywhere and the Internet just worked.
But you aren't here to listen to an old wolf ramble on about how things were before the collapse. Not you, kid–other kids in your class might find it fun to hear about those stories, but you want to hear about the collapse and the Unification War. So, why'd you pick me? No–don't answer. The reason you picked me out is because you've done your homework and figured out that I'm Captain Scott Summers Jameson of "Havoks Hounds". Well, kid, don't let it get around. Do you know how hard it was to find a place where I wouldn't be hounded by people that wanted to treat me like some sort of celebrity just because I did my job?
Anyway, I can't have a kid fail their Republic History class because of me. Well, kid, I can't just tell you about the battles—that wouldn't be fair to you and knowing the laws of this country it'd probably get me in trouble for "corrupting a minor" or some stupid shit. Hrm... Ever been in love, kid? Again–don't answer. You're to young to have experienced true love. So I'll frame this as a love-story—about the only woman I've ever loved.
{{#if:r|{{#if:The NAR Comes to Town|
The NAR Comes to Town
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January 10, 2010
It was cold, but with fatigues over my fur I was warm. The camp was located high in the Appalahians, overlooking what had been the border between Pennsylvania and New York. Prime Skying country, as evidenced by the ski-lodge that had been turned into the company headquarters for the first special operations command. On New Years Eve there had been a guerilla attack on a nearby town, the forces coming out of New York and crossing back over the border. We'd lost important food and fuel supplies–and the town had lost it's doctor.
"Damned idiots! American Pride my Ass! The second something happened that weakened Washingtons grip the country shattered." The words came out more venomous and a lot harder to understand than they should have. Six months ago I'd left my job with PP&L, college and my pacifist ideals behind when a gang of looters had hit the dorms and killed everyone that they even suspected of trying to attack them. Including the ones that had walked out under a white flag to tell them that they could take what they wanted with no violence. One month ago I got hit with the Torch and "Went Teefer" – winding up the coal-black anthro-wolf I am today.
"Cool it, Scott. We all feel the same way, but the US is gone. CO wants you out at the range working on the accuracy of those fireballs for tonights raid. We're gonna hit the guerillas and get some information at the same time." Jackson Jeffries, another recent teefer and probably my best friend at the time chided. His scent didn't match the emotion in his voice, but he's an arctic fox and his nose would tell him the same thing about me. Sure I was a little pissed about the Guerillas, but I was happy that the US had collapsed. In the years before the collapse it had gotten so corrupt it was pitiful—invading countries over suspicions that they possessed powerful weapons and bullshit like that.
Not wanting to spoil my mood I didn't reply–if I had Jack would have been trying to get me to calm down even more than I had already. Instead I turned and started a ground-eating lope that would have been impossible before teefers had twisted my body. About ten minutes later I was in a concrete and steel room that had been hastily put up to give me and other teefers that had superpowers a place to practice. Twenty yards away were five targets roughly the size of a human head arranged in patterns representing the position of various weak spots in enemy vehicles. But before I could reach inside and call forth the flames that would let me destroy them there was a cough behind me.
I spun, snapped to attention and saluted, recognizing the scent of my commanding officer before he even spoke.
"As you were, corporal. I wanted to see this myself–you've always been careful to only practice when you're alone." The words hit me hard, but I held position, training dictating that I hold the salute until it was returned. Finally noticing the predicament Capt. James Strunk returned the salute and waited for me to begin. Turning back to the targets I stepped on the button to start the timer and delivered five fast-ball style pitches—when I started my hand was empty, but as I finished a ball of roiling plasma leaped to life and sped from my hand at supersonic speeds.
The targets, each made of carbon-fiber and armored steel flared brightly as my projectiles impacted. A few seconds later I followed up with a second round, these delivered side-arm style and with more power behind them. Again they were deadly accurate, but this time the targets exploded into hot, metallic vapor. Behind me the Captain was silent, but the scents of his emotions rolled over me and told me he was really impressed. But it was time to clear out–gaseous carbon and steel is not something you want to breath, so I grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the room.
"Sergeant, that was... amazing. I've seen a lot of these "powers" demonstrated but you've got a unique delivery. There's a pair of operations going on tonight–one to take out the guerilla group thats been raiding the nearby towns for supplies and the other to get rid of an armored company that the New York Army is moving into the area. I'd like you to lead the attack on the armored company."
"Sir, I'd rather..." finally it hit me that he'd just promoted me on the spot. Before I could have done what I wanted in regards to the mission, but now... Sergeants both give and take orders–most importantly, though, they are expected to accept any mission given to them. "Capture or Destroy, Sir?"
"Capture if possible. Destroy what you can't bring back. And no one-man crew in those tanks."
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Two days later I had a hand-picked group setup around the guerillas camp. Then it was time to wait, because we'd made good time and it was still daylight. So we hunkered down in our hidden holes and waited for nightfall, when the guerillas — all human and with the terrible night-site that brings — would be at their most vulnerable.
Three hours later the sun set came and we began moving. And once another hour had passed it was dark enough to move. Using the darkness to our advantage we moved in. But we aren't machines moving with perfect precision, and neither were our enemies. As I moved into the ammo dump where my first objective was I tripped over a guard sleeping on duty and wasn't able to kill him before the alarm started to be raised. I managed to get my knife into his femoral artery and out again without having any of the other New York Irregulars becoming a problem. Knowing how little time we had now that Murphy had struck I got to ammo dump and dropped the three pounds of C4 and detonator that would serve as the distraction for our escape - with seven of their tanks.
Not that I managed to get to my second task unassailed. Nope, not this "hero" – Murphy loves screwing with me and tonight he was really getting in his licks. I came around the corner and into the walkway between the ammo dump and the fuel dump and 7.62mm machine-gun rounds started whistling through the air around me. That gave me two choices, and one was pointless. As the bullets got more and more on target I remembered the planning we'd done, spun around and threw a fireball as hard and fast as I could at the place where I knew that M60 machine gun was mounted then took off running for the fuel dump. There was another pound of C4 in the bag on my back and it was needed in that fuel dump.
But my nose brought me other news, and I skidded to a halt, dropped to the ground and pulled the bomb from my pack. The bomb didn't have to be precisely placed — gasoline being the volatile fuel it is all I need to do was get it in close enough to the a set of barrels for the explosive charge to cause the barrels to split and vaporize – the heat of the explosion would ignite the vapors and the fuel dump would go up in a ball of flame. But guarding the only entrance to the fuel dump were three heavily armored troopers and I couldn't risk firing on them. That could, and probably would, cause the fuel dump to detonate early.
With my mind made up I slowly got to my feet, then jumped as high as I could and threw the C4 at a nearby collection of fuel barrels. Then I took off back towards the ammo dump at full speed, since there was one last place for me to be – at the tanks. Those were at the camp motor pool, on the other side of the fuel dump, but there was at least one other way to get there, and one was through the guardhouse that I'd toasted a few minutes before. When I hurdled the remains the wood was still smoking and the air still smelled faintly of the atomized iron from the gun and from the blood of the soldiers that had been caught in the blast.
Murphy left me alone for the duration of my mad dash for the motor-pool, but struck again just as I get through the gates. The bomb on the ammo-dump went off early—most likely because someone tried screwing with it, but that doesn't matter. What does is that the distraction that was supposed to buy my team time to finish the sabotage job on the tanks we weren't going to "commandeer". I howled the alert sound and ran for the tank closest to me when a familiar head popped out of the commanders hatch.
"Start 'er up and let's go. Murphy showed up early and we need to get out of here."
Private Johnson slid into the M1's drivers seat and started the engine. I stuck my head out of the hatch and looked, five other tanks had started their engine, but one in the formation wasn't going. Great, it was the one right behind mine. "Johnson, the tank behind us isn't running. Did you bomb it?"
"Not a chance, Sarge. But Theo's in that one and you know how fussy he is about that tail of his."
We couldn't take anymore time, so I was up and out of the tank in a hurry, leaving Johnson to close and dog the hatch. My training hadn't included much in the way of instruction on tank operation–none, in fact. Not bothering to even think about that lack in my training I was up and in the other tank fast. Specialist Theodore Schumacher was sitting in the gunners position looking at the drivers seat. "Theo, if I have to drive this thing I will, but we've got to go NOW." I fairly roared the last word and he backed out of the way, letting me slide into the reclined seat. My tail gave a sharp report of pain that I ignored, because the seat hadn't been designed with teefers in mind, and I flicked the switches and pushed the button, causing the 1500hp gas turbine that powered this beast to roar to life.
I revved the engine and left the transmission in neutral for a moment before pushing the button that'd start the timers on all the bombs that hadn't gone off yet. "Theo, give the signal. Let's get out of here."
Prologue 
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Prologue 
