Operation -9

Disclaimer: All characters are 18 or older.

Content warnings: Large penis, dog-girl

*****

Chapter 1: Visiting Hours

The desert sun beat down on Emily's skin as she jogged, panting heavily. The heat was uncompromising. The packed, dry earth underfoot had been baking in the sun all day, and it radiated heat, hot enough that she almost thought her running shoes would melt mid-strike, like some sort of cruel, cartoonish prank by an angry artist. She had to squint her hazel eyes constantly beneath the bill of her baseball cap, trying to filter out the glaring brightness of the sands that surrounded the compound in all directions, just beyond the chain link and barbed wire fence. Every breeze that came across the sands felt like the blast of heat from an open oven, and carried with it stinging, gritty sand that stuck to her sweaty, bronze-tanned skin, joining the sand that she could never quite completely rid herself of. And yet, she was smiling.

Her unstoppable grin seemed at odds with her surroundings. A barbed wire fence. Rigid rows of grubby trailers. Piles and piles of crates everywhere. Blocky, armored vehicles parked in crude parking lots. Even the more 'permanent' structures were simplistic, square, and haphazardly assembled. It was a bizarre place to live. Everything was crude, blunt, and unrefined, from the housing to the tools to the people themselves. Nothing ever worked quite the way it was supposed to, and half the time, the right tools were hundreds of miles away, so everything seemed to have some kind of makeshift patch or improvised fix on it somewhere. Everyone worked soul-crushing hours, doing insanely dangerous and stressful work, and all they had to show for it at the end of the day was leftover rations and cramped quarters with no air conditioning.

Emily was dressed lightly, which was pretty much a requirement in this place. A lightweight white tank top hung off her narrow, rounded shoulders, already turning transparent with sweat, more clearly revealing the gray sports bra that it barely concealed in the first place. The tight sports bra hugged a pair of perky, shapely breasts the size of ripe peaches, 30Cs, holding them in place as she jogged with a bounding stride. Each bounce made the top waft up a little, revealing her tiny waist and exposing just the barest hint of her tight little abs. Her hips didn't quite seem to fit the rest of her narrow frame, they might have looked a tad generous on a normal girl, but on her, they were incredible. She wore a pair of tight desert camo print running shorts, which clung to the twin globes of her thick, perfectly round bubble butt, the smooth flesh jiggling as she ran in a way that practically begged for a sharp spank. She had a cute, round face, with smooth skin, a little button nose, and a wide, cheerful grin that never seemed to go away altogether. Taken all together, she was a petite little thing, with a slender frame that only stood a little taller than 5'1" with shoes on, all of which helped make her look younger than she really was.

Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail that floated behind her as she jogged, the majority of it a warm honey-brown, but for a thick band of black hair that emerged from under her baseball cap to give the tail a distinct stripe. The ponytail ended at the bottom of her shoulder blades, but that same color pattern was mirrored a bit further down, in the tail emerging from just beneath the waistband of her shorts, at the base of her spine. It was about a foot and a half long, and as she ran it swayed side to side for balance, a slow wag. It was covered in thick, mid-length stiff fur, black on top and honey-brown on the bottom. From out of her hair emerged her ears, a pair of stiff triangular cones that shifted this way and that to follow sounds, poking up through specially-cut holes in her cap.

As Emily rounded the second corner of her jogging route, her hand gripping a small paperback in one hand, she heard the commotion before she saw the source. A dozen or so men, all of them fit and toned, half wearing tank-tops, the other half shirtless, bare skin glistening with sweat in the hot sun. They scrabbled this way and that in a chaotic shuffle, shouting insults and cheers as one leapt, tossing a basketball in a high arch toward an improvised hoop fastened to the side of a building. There was a dull thump, and the ball rebounded, flying high over the assembled player's heads and bouncing in front of her.

The impulse struck her without warning. As the ball bounced away, she let go, the book falling to the dusty ground as lunge forward. She accelerated, leaning into the run, he eyes locked on the ball, her grin widening in the simple pleasure of the chase. It was only thirty or forty feet of running before she caught the ball, bending over at the waist and inadvertently thrusting her round, spankable rear into the air, but as soon as she had it in her possession, she felt embarrassment grip her. She'd let herself go wild. Fear gripped her heart, and she shot upright, her cheeks burning, her tail curling down to put its tip between her knees. Had they seen her? Did they realize what had happened? She'd been doing so well, but now this, how would they treat her after seeing that little display? She silently cursed the soviets and their experiments, like she had a thousand times before.

All she had to do was play it off like it was no big deal. Mentally, she forced the tail to rise and wag as she turned on her heel, ball still in hand, and waved at the players, starting to jog back toward them. One of the players, a wiry, dark-skinned guy in a tank top, Johnson, if memory served, laughed. She couldn't quite make out all the words with her ears pinned down under her cap, but she did manage to catch 'fetch'. Her heart fell for a moment, her tail sinking along with it, before one of the other players, a square-shouldered shirtless guy with pale skin by the name of Cannon, socked him in the shoulder, making him wince.

Cannon jogged off their makeshift court, over to where she'd dropped her book, scooping it up, then jogging to meet her as she approached. He loomed over her, a full foot taller than her, and quite a bit broader. On his chest he had a black-line tattoo, a banner that unfurled across his broad pecs, bearing the words 'Semper Fidelis' in elaborate script. the square-jawed marine gave her a grin and held out her book for her to take. She took it with a nervous smile, and handed him the ball in exchange. "Hey, DeeDee. Thanks for catching it. I definitely didn't want to chase it all across base." He thanked her.

"No problem. Thanks..." She replied, glancing back to the rest of the players, particularly at Johnson as he rubbed his shoulder. "For getting my book, I mean." She clarified, holding it up as example.

Cannon grinned broader. "No problem. Wouldn't be right to leave it in the dirt." He replied, then peered a little closer at the book. "...Is that Brennan's book?" He asked, his voice a little lower.

She paused, tail sinking a little lower, but maintaining a poker face. "Huh? Er, yeah, I was... I figured I'd visit him on the way, you know, give him something to do. I mean, since this is the first time I'm off duty since..." She explained, words trailing off as her gaze shifted away.

Cannon nodded, tucking the ball against his hip and giving her a gentle pat on the shoulder with one large hand. "I'm sure he'll love the company." He said, simply, then glanced around. "Females are supposed to be on the buddy system on base. You should try to find a running partner." He added.

Emily glanced up to him and grinned wider than ever, tail wagging. "Aww, you worried about me, Cannon? Don't worry, nobody's gonna try anything with me." She explained, turning on her heel, slipping out from under his hand and starting off jogging again. "Besides, it's not like any of you jarheads could keep up with me!" She added over her shoulder with a grin.

As she rounded a building out of sight, she could still hear them talking for a few more moments.

"Have a nice chat with Deedee~?" Asked Johnson in a teasing, singsong tone.

"Shut up. She looks like my baby sister." Cannon shot back

"Yeah, you and every other guy in camp. But then, I bet you don't watch your sister walk away like that. Or do you? Where you from again? Tennessee?" Johnson added, quickly followed by "Ow! Fuck, dude, that was the same spot!"

As Emily got more distance, their voices faded into the background noise of the camp. Her fingers tightened their grip on the spine of the book in her hand, and she couldn't help but smile again. Everything on the base was crude, especially the people. The hours were long, the work was dangerous, the quarters were simplistic at best, and it was always, always, too damn hot. And yet, she loved it here.

Emily smiled and waved at the marines she passed. She knew all their names, and they all knew hers,or at least her nickname. Some of them had saved her life, others, she'd saved in turn. Sure, some of them were dumb, or rude. But nobody actually hated her here. Nobody called her an animal, a freak, an abomination, or a spy. She was a marine, one of them, and they all looked out for each other. Here, she could prove to the world she was more than just a zver'doch, more than just an experiment, more than just a weapon. She was happy here, really happy, for the first time in her life. Whatever she had to do to keep it that way, whatever she had to do to protect this grubby little slice of paradise, she'd do it.

Emily rounded the third corner of the fence, coming around to face the medical station, her eyes roaming up to the big squared cross on the front of the building. They'd told her it was red, but to her, it was just gray. Red or gray, the sign was clear, and her pace slowed as she drew closer, memories bubbling to the surface, as clear as she was living them all over again.

She saw Brennan's face as he laughed at a stupid joke she could no longer remember as they stood checkpoint duty. She heard the deep rumble of the truck's engine as it pulled up to a stop. She smelled the inexplicable, unmistakable scent of coffee grounds, the kind of scent used to cover another. She smelled engine grease and hot tires as she checked the truck from bumper to bumper, but found nothing. She saw Brennan checking a pedestrian's backpack. She smelled the scent of coffee grounds suddenly grow a dozen times stronger as Brennan tugged at the zipper. She heard her heartbeat thundering in her chest, and her own voice screaming to get clear. She saw the crowd panic, scattering in all directions. She saw Brennan's eyes, wide with panic, staring into hers with a silent plea for help as he stood over the bag, body frozen in place. She heard a deafening bang, saw a blinding flash, felt a wave of force strike her, and smelled the choking, acrid scent of smoke. After that, everything was just a blur.

As Emily pulled herself back to reality, she realized she was standing in the door of the medical station, standing stock-still just a few feet from the door with her tail curled forward between her knees. She shook her head, gripping the book tighter, and forced herself to relax, her tail uncurling. She strode forward, pushing through the door, pulling her cap off out of habit. Air flowed through the open door, watching over her, her sweaty skin suddenly experiencing the sweet, sweet kiss of air conditioning. As the door closed behind her, she sighed with simple pleasure, standing still for a long moment to soak in the cool air, a welcome relief from the punishing heat outside.

Emily jumped, snapping from her reverie as a corpsman cleared her throat behind the desk just in front of her. She shot the corpsman a sheepish grin, stepping up to the desk. "Sorry, I just... It's hot." She tried to explain, weakly. "I'm, uh, I'm here to see Lance Corporal Brennan. I'd heard he could take visitors, and I wanted to bring him his book..."

The corpsman nodded with an understanding smile. "Relax, everybody takes a second or two to enjoy it." She shared in a conspiratory, hushed tone, then shook her head, turning to a clipboard on the desk and flipping the page. "Brennan... Yup, cleared for regular visiting hours. He's in room four. I just need you to sign the visitor log." She nodded, tapping another clipboard with a duct-taped pen. Emily nodded, picking up the pen and beginning to write for several long seconds, scribbling furiously. When she finally laid the pen down, there was her full name and rank, 'EOD CPL Emily D'Dvesti'Dvadtsat'Dva'. The corpsman glanced to the page and arched an eyebrow, impressed. "So that's why they call you Deedee..."

Emily gave an exasperated head-shake. "Fuckin' soviets, what are ya gonna do?" She muttered by way of explanation, then turned to look down a short hallway to the left. "Room four, right?" She asked for confirmation, and the corpsman nodded, pointing to the back corner.

Emily shot the corpsman a final friendly smile before turning and making her way down the hall. Facing the door, she hesitated, gripping the book tightly in her free hand as she other balled into a fist, slowly rising to knock on the door. "Come in." Came Brennan's voice through the door, his tone flat and unreadable. Emily swallowed, gripping the handle. Whatever she saw on the other side, she had to be cool about it. She forced a smile and a wag of her tail as she turned the knob and pushed into the room.

Brennan lay back casually on the hospital bed, propped up by the adjustable bed, his legs crossed, still in the camouflage pants he'd been wearing when last she'd seen him. He almost looked like he normally did off-duty, if it weren't for all the bandages. His entire torso had been wrapped up like a mummy, from shoulders to belly-button, leaving his shoulders bare. His hands, too, were thoroughly wrapped, reduced to mitten-like bundles that extended all the way up to his elbows. As he turned away from the TV in the corner toward his new visitor, a broad smile spreading across his face, making the gauze pad taped to his jaw and the bruise on his chin shift. "Hey, Deedee!" He greeted exuberantly, lifting one arm to give her a cheery wave. "How's it feel to be a hero?" He asked with a chuckle, which made him wince.

Emily didn't even hear him, too busy going wide-eyed with worry at his injuries. "Oh my god!" She exclaimed, letting the door swing itself closed as she rushed to his bedside. "I'm so sorry! Everyone said you were doing fine, I had no idea it was this bad, I should have been here sooner, I should have been playing closer attention, I should never have let this happen!" She babbled, struggling to apologize and explain herself at once.

He chuckled once more, which prompted another wince, and held up a mitten. "Woah, woah, slow down, there! I really AM fine, it's not nearly as bad as it looks." He assured her. She looked sceptical, so he began to explain. "The explosives guy they had look the scene over told me whoever made the bomb fucked it up. He got the mix wrong, used too weak of a case, and either just forgot to use shrapnel or was actually trying to mess it up... Basically, it made a lot of fire and smoke, not a lot of damage." He explained, gesturing with bandaged hands.

"I caught the pressure wave, but the vest took the worst of it. Spread it out a bit, you know? Still cracked a couple ribs, but nothing that won't heal. I got some pretty gruesome lookin' bruises under these bandages, though." He explained with a grin, gesturing up and down his chest and stomach with his mittened hands. "I'd show you, but they they wrapped me up pretty good after the first few times I messed with the bandages. I look like a mummy." He explained, smirking as he shook his head. "The doc said I should be fit for duty in a week, maybe a couple if I fuck around too much and make it worse."

As Emily blinked, his eyes widened with excitement. "Oh, and check this out!" He added, gesturing to the gauze on his jaw. "A bit of the casing clipped my jaw when it blew." He explained, grinning. "Just a couple stitched, but the captain says it'll probably scar. I hope so! I hear girls love that kinda stuff. Plus, it's a hell of a story, huh? What about you, think I'll look sexy with a little scar right there? You know, to bring out my rugged, manly charm?" He inquired, still smiling wide like a kid in a candystore.

Emily was still having a little bit of trouble finding words as her mind was busily reorganizing all her thoughts and feelings about the incident to fit this new information. Everything was suddenly upside-down and she was trying to find her footing. Brennan certainly didn't have the same problem. "Oh, hey, my new book!" He grinned, reaching out for her hand. "Finally some entertainment! They didn't get any good channels on this TV." He elaborated, gripping the book.

When he pulled, her grip tightened suddenly. Overcome by emotion, she pulled, tearing the book from his hand as her other hand gripped the guard rail of the bed with a white-knuckled grip. She brought it up, then suddenly down, smacking him in the face with the book. Thankfully, it was a softcover, so it was really more uncomfortable than painful. She raised the book up and brought it down again and again in a frenzied assault, painfully bringing the spine down on his head once or twice. "Ow! Gah! Deedee! Ow! What?! Ahh!" He sputtered, weakly trying to fend her off with bandaged hands.

"You JERK!" She growled through her teeth, punctuating her exclamations with more smacks with the book. "You got your own ROOM! And your own BED! With AC! And TV! And a cool SCAR! And you're fucking FINE! And I was WORRIED! And SAD! And SCARED! 'Cause I thought you were HURT! And you were gonna be PARALYZED! Or BURNED! Or have no HANDS! And it would be MY FAULT! 'Cause I FUCKED UP! An' I MISSED IT! An' you were gonna HATE ME! An' everyone was gonna HATE ME! An' I... I would... I woulda deserved it..." Her smacks grew weaker and weaker until she raised the book one final time and let it flop limply onto his face. She sniffled, raising her free hand to her face to try and wipe away the tears welling in her eyes, her shoulders trembling.

Brennan reached up with his mummified hands, gently taking hold of the arm holding the book on his face and shift it off. His expression was serious, much less jovial than before. "Deedee." He spoke softly, looking into her glistening hazel eyes. "None of this is your fault. Not even a little. You did exactly what you were supposed to do. Look." He added, gesturing to the gauze on his jaw again. "When somebody asks me how I got this scar, you know what the most important part of the story I'll tell is? That half a second before the bomb went off, my partner shouted a warning. That if I hadn't looked up at that exact moment, I'd have lost an eye, at best. I could have died right there. You saved my life." He explained, his tone serious. There was a moment of near silence before he grinned again. "And that really woulda been a tragedy, depriving the word of all this studliness." He added, flashing a cheesy handsome smile.

She snerked at his lame joke, smiling despite herself. She rolled her wrist, flopping the book back over his face to cover up that cheesy smile. "You're such a gigantic dork..." She muttered, shaking her head as she wiped her eyes and sniffled once again.

"Ahh, but it worked, didn't it?" He asked, his voice distorted by the book on his face.

Emily smiled softly, pulling the book away. "Yeah... Yeah, it did." she replied, shaking her head. "I'm so sorry, Brennan, I come here to comfort you and then I hit you and now you're comforting me..." She muttered, giving one last good sniffle.

"Hey, it's what I do. And it's not like I've got anything else to do." He replies with a sigh as he glanced around.