The Spheres of Heaven

[phrostphyre]

"Where are you guys? Dammit, dammit, dammit! Where the Lord Wolf are you?" Drums pounded in Convel's head. His blood was up, and now he was out for revenge. His footpaws pounded as he searched for the brig. What the hell kinda ship doesn't have a freakin' brig? Hell, is this even a ship? Dude, this freakin sucks. I hate this garbage.
"Hello!! Where are you guys?" As Convel bellowed once more, two wolves appeared. They were big, tough-looking, and looked like they knew how to scrap, with and without weapons. They happened to be carrying several knives and each had a gun. Big, mean, ugly-looking guns. And they were wearing uniforms.
"Hehe, hey guys. Maybe we can talk this over?" Whatever else Convel was about to say got cut short, as he got bludgeoned in the back of the head, dropping instantly.

~*~
He woke in a cell, with a barred door, and no way out. Getting up, all he could remember were two names. Fiona. Guadalupe. FionaGuadaFionaGuadalupeFionaGuadalupe!NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! WHO AM I? The last weren't just thoughts, they were words, screamed as loud as possible.
"NO! NO! NOOOOO! WHO THE HELL AM I?! WHO? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" He was screaming at the walls and the door, punching them, kicking the bed he had woken up on, wondering why he was where he was, whoever he was.
"Therrrre'ssss no need for that Missssterrrr MacTirrre. I assssurre you. All will be explained in due time." The speaker was shorter than MacTire, Is that my name?, about five foot six, wearing a business suit with a leather briefcase. His eyes were a piercing iridescent green, tinged with blue and brown throughout. As he walked off, two thugs appeared with keys and guns. Motioning to MacTire, he followed them wordlessly, pondering the three names he now had in his head. Fiona? Guadalupe? MacTire? DAMN!
As the three wolves entered a room, MacTire noticed that the beast behind the desk was a female wolf, wearing Admiral's stars and insignia.
"Mister Convel MacTire, Staff Sergeant, qualified expert with rifle, and expert with pistol. Except your pistol score was higher than that of the rifle. 40/40 with pistol, and 39/40 with rifle. Why was this?" She spoke with the tones of command, like she was a Captain giving orders to a subordinate with a ship at war.
"The rifle didn't fit my paws right. It just sat there wrong, I guess. The pistol was great, like it was made for my paw, ma'am." Convel recognized his name and suddenly it all hit him at once.
You! You're the enemy threatening to destroy all the peace I've ever had!" Convel's voice was a damning one, one sentencing the Admiral to Hell for eternity, but Convel had no power over that, except to send her on her way. Which he promptly tried to do. Jumping over the desk, his paws siezed her neck and squeezed like a magnet clamp on a sword. As she tried to gasp and plead, Convel started seeing red, and ignoring everything but the target, he did his merry best to kill her. Which would have gone very well if there weren't two thugs behind him. Walking up, one grabbed Convel's tail, nodded at his companion, and the other one hit him in the back of the head.
"OH JEEZ, THE BACK OF MY HEAD AGAIN?!" They took turns beating
Convel, until the Admiral told them to stop.
"We can use our turning techniques on him. Throw him in his cell."

[phrostphyre]

oos: Some freaking feedback would be bloody great. Tell me what you think, and offer any criticism. I'll take it like a man, then try and address it.

BIS:
"Damn. They've got Convel and are torturing him."
"What exactly are they doing?"
"I don't know, dammit. It sounds terrible though. I thought he was the toughest among us."
"Well, we can't all always be tough cookies, can we?"
"HEY! Don't say that about him! Convel's the bomb!"
The speakers were Convel's group. As the screams of some un-earthly animal echoed up and down the hallway, the group was scared to death. Rupert, one of the other males, spoke up.
"I'm thinkin' we should try and bust outta here, as we're gainin' nuthin doin' nuthin!" His suggestion was instantly shot down by all the others, claiming that they had no weapons, what about Convel, Convel'd slow them down, and other arguments.

~*~
2345, In space on board capital ship, maintaining an orbit around a planet.

"Tell me Admiral, how goes the Breaking of Subject MacTire?" The speaker, a large wolf with the stars of a Fleet Admiral on his shoulders, was also the most senior officer in the United States of Argunia's Navy. He was a career naval officer, with fifty years of experience, having joined at fourteen. He'd had a long and illustrious career, finally culminating in capturing an entire flotilla from UPM. Fleet Admiral Robert Jackson stood and motioned towards the Admiral to sit.
"It's not going good at all, sir. He just won't break. We've not done anything...violating his person, except waterboard, bash his head against a table, isolate him from any contact at all. The only thing he's done is repeat his name, serial number, and rank. He's given us nothing. I've suggested we show him kindness instead of brutality, but more...senior interrogators are insisting we keep beating him."
Robby nodded and sat back down.
"You have my full authorization to do anything to get him to talk. Just don't violate his person...sexually. We might be warriors, but we are not rapists. Dismissed Admiral." The Admiral left, taking her notes and other items with her.

~*~
0012, on board same capital ship, the USS Constitution, also affectionately known as 'Old Ironsides.'

Convel was sweating. They'd just broken a rib, but they'd get nothing out of him, he told himself. As they picked him up and tossed him onto a bed, the Admiral came in.
"What did they do to you this time, break a rib?" She spoke like an older sister, worrying about younger brother.
Convel nodded slowly, rolling over to face the wall and curling up, trying to find a way to escape the pain. It was worse than getting a hangover, then having to fight against armed soldiers on top of two hangovers, and drug induced euphoria. As Convel mentally swayed and rolled with the pain like a wave crushing upon a beach, he felt a soft paw on his shoulder.
"Would you like something for the pain?" Shaking his head, Convel fought to stay awake and alert. Digging a paw into the broken rib, Convel used it as a sort of morphine to stay awake.
"You'll....... not........get.......any...thing....from me!" As Admiral Diane Ulven shook her head at the sheer idiocy, not to mention bravery of this lone wolf, abandoned by his country, trying to save his sister from selling her body on the streets, she rose and walked out.
"As soon as he's unconscious, pump him full of pain medications. We don't want him getting hurt, do we?" Walking away, she stumped over what an interesting beast SSgt. Convel MacTire, expert with pistol and rifle, IQ of 156, was, and how she could get information out of him.He's probably got an ego that I could use. What about befriending him? Ask him why he was fighting. Then tell him the same was true for me... Hmm.... Worth a try.

[phrostphyre]

Six wolves were looking at Staff Sergeant Convel MacTire. One was wearing a kilt, and sported several blades. The second was female and wearing a dress and holding paws with the kilt-clad one. The third was wearing a blue and white uniform, holding a musket from the First Northern War of Independence. The fourth was wearing the gray uniform from the Second Northern War of Independence, and bearing a rifle. The fifth was the founder of the MacTire line, though Convel didn't know it. The sixth was Convel MacTire, the old King of the Northlands, and all wolves owed allegiance to SSgt. Convel MacTire, for he was descended from kings and chieftains of old. Every one of the male wolves looking at SSgt. Convel MacTire were his forefathers, everyone a Hell-raiser, freedom fighter, and general pain in the butt to the United Kingdom of Mossflower and the Northlands. Glancing at each other, the males all stepped towards Convel, who was standing in an open plain, surrounded by wolves, all family members of the last male MacTire.
"Rise up, ye wee laddie."
"Rise up lad."
"Rise up pup."
"Stir yourself, ye milksop."
"Rise, young Convel MacTire, for you must not break under the threat that this enemy poses. Do not betray the Northlands, for this enemy surely will destroy the heather and mountains that stir your blood every time you see pictures of them. Rise for you are a MacTire warrior!" Disappearing, the MacTires left the Staff Sergeant standing in the field. As he woke from his dream, SSgt Convel MacTire noticed he was on a bed, not a cot in a brig cell. Glancing around, the still sleep bleary wolf saw that the room he was in was an actual bedroom. Getting up, Convel saw the door was open, staggering out of it, he looked down the hallway, and saw a corporal coming towards him.

[phrostphyre]

Snapping a salute, the corporal told Convel, "The officers of the ship request that you dine with them, sir." The entire time, his eyes wandered over Convel, sizing him up, measuring him, getting the feel for Convel, while Convel did the same. Nodding, Convel ran into the room he had been in, looking for the john. He nearly didn't make it.

~*~
"We regret to inform the public that although the prisoners taken during the course of all the fighting have been released, one Staff Sergeant by the name of Convel MacTire remains prisoner behind enemy lines. We ask that your prayers go to this brave soldier and his family in their time of need, and enlist, so that we may defeat this threat to our sovereignty. Good luck and good night."


~*~
Guadalupe, Convel's sister gasped in horror and shock at the fact that her brother was a prisoner of war.

~*~
In all the churches on the planet, bells rung and candles were lighted while pastors, priests, preachers, and ministers prayed.

~*~
In homes across the planet, people hoped that Convel could escape or something, but it was not in the cards for the near future.

[phrostphyre]

The corporal and Convel were in an elevator when alarms stated blaring and the lighting went from off white to red, with blue lights blinking on and off.
"NOW HERE THIS: ALL BEASTS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS. ALL CIVILIANS AND VISITING FLEET OFFICERS REPORT TO CAPTAIN'S CABIN. ALL BEASTS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS, WE ARE UNDER ATTACK FROM THE FEDERATION." The corporal started to panic.
"Oh jeez, we're so ******* hosed! Oh God, oh God!" The corporal started running around in circles, screaming at the top of his lungs about:"I'm to pretty to die! I'm to young to die!I haven't seen Paris!" Convel started laughing, at the corporal, at life, at death, and at the fact that he was on an enemy warship, getting attacked by a Federation of some sort.
"Take me to the bridge, or the highest ranking officer on this ship, now!" Convel used his Sergeant voice, bellowing like this was basic training and the poor sucker in front of him was a buck private, straight off of the bus. The elevator had stopped by now, so Convel pressed the button marked "Bridge."
They stepped off into chaos. Orders and damage reports were being bellowed, and over intercoms came screams from beasts being burned, the Marines were preparing to repel boarders and board, reports coming from the gun turrets. It was like nothing Convel had seen, except for FTX's, in which they used blanks and MILES gear.
"-iring all cannons now!"
"-ngar D reports massive fires!"
"All Marines, prepare to repel-"
"-e a status report on the shields!"
"---hhhhHHH!"
"-got seventy wounded in the Med Bay right n-!"
Then the Captain's voice boomed out.
"FIRE ALL WEAPONS AT IT'S BRIDGE!"
Convel noticed the use of 'it.' It designated a target, an enemy, something to be destroyed, killed, or hurt. Nodding to the Corporal to head towards his battle station, Convel stepped nearer to the Captain's command chair. The captain on the vessel was a female gray fox, about three feet shorter than Convel, but the eyes were a soft liquid gold, like whiskey, and they were staring directly at the remains of Convel's tattered uniform.
"What the hell is an enemy doing on my bridge? I told those flag officers that I couldn't condone torture on my ship as long as they knew you weren't a spy. Now get off my bridge, I have to fight my ship." Her fur was a soft gray, like the hull of an old steel warship that fought in water. Her tail was tipped by red, and Convel saw the steel of a warrior within the small female.
"Captain, you shouldn't be biting my head off, it's the other fellow's you should. That salvo you just fired seemed to damage the shields enough to bring them down. I suggest another salvo aimed here." Pointing at a spot near the end of the Federation ship, Convel added onto his statement. "That's near their engines. I reckon that if you hit right here, you'll disable it, then being able to take it's guns out with your smaller weapons while blowing bigger holes into it's hull. Just an idea, you know. But if you want to distrust an enemy ground-pounder, that's your prerogative, but I'll be damned if I let the ship I'm trusting to not kill me get killed itself." Leaning against the bulkhead, Convel affected not to care whether or not the Captain followed his advice. After all, all Convel did was carry a gun, shoot stuff, and blow stuff up. What would he know about fighting a naval engagement?
"Fire all weapons at the spot the enemy on the bridge indicated."
The orange beams lanced out from the gun ports, all converging on the weak spot. The missiles launched from the missile pods looked like fireflies rushing towards a light, exploding upon the point of impact, generally three inches before it hits the target, giving the missile time to burst and riddle the target with shrapnel and fire.
In general, space engagements are things of beauty, the pure black eggs of the ship's shield moving to engagement range, the varying colors of ship's lasers causing hot spots on the shields, the firefly effect of the missiles leaching shield power, and at the end, the loser's shield would expand, then implode, killing a ship, not actual beasts.
The same rationale that justified the killing of spaceships had been used by fighter pilots to justify killing each other, and the same with tankers. They were killing things, not beasts. And that was OK, wasn't it?
As more laser cannons were brought to bear on the weak spot of the Federation ship, the spot began to glow red, then orange, then hot yellow, and then BOOM! it exploded, and fire, atmosphere, cadavers, and equipment started venting. Cheers erupted as the engines started sputtering, then died, and the other ship's guns slowly stopped firing, as they realized they were dead in the water, so to speak.
"Send them an ultimatum. If they do not withdraw with their secondary engines, we'll wipe that ship out of the universe."