Squirrel Patrol: Thousand-Yard Stare

Grandstanding and Going to Ground

They broke camp shortly after a field breakfast, Lieutenant Itchy bravely riding point, completely oblivious to any danger. Nuts rode aside him, relaxed but wary. The rest of the team straggled in more-or-less an orderly, paired line. Fern and Jazz were next in line, discussing music or arts, something Nuts had only a rudimentary knowledge of, besides what was on the music machine at the bar. The rest followed, ending with Bushy and Vermin jockeying for position with the supplies; one trying to protect, one trying to pilfer.

Scratcher, in the middle of the pack, was stuck with the badger. Nastiness just oozed from the corporal, definitely off-putting, but Scratch figured it was worth a try to make a connection with him. If at least, to learn if the badger would support the team when the turds came a-flying.

"So, Corporal. What's your story? You look like you know shat goes where, maybe even come out better for it.", Scratcher finished on a light note.

The badger looked Scratch over, wondering what the squirrel's angle was. His motto was, 'when in doubt, lie your tail off.' He started his response off honestly and continued downhill from there.

"Used to be a sergeant. About equal to your squirrel Nuts there.", he gestured. Had an attack go nipples up, lost most of my patrol. Didn't matter that the intel I was given was an empty shell. Someone had to catch it, officers are immune to it, I got busted to private for it." He rubbed his corporal insignia. "Just got this back yesterday, a 'reward' for 'volunteering', you can say."

Scratcher reflected on that speech for a moment. "You know you could've ended up far worse. Yeah, brass is ass and all that, but you're making it back. They could've locked you up or kicked you to civilian. There's always a bright side if you go looking for it."

The badger looked at the squirrel with a look of mixed incredulity and pessimism. "You can survive in this war with 'that' going for you? Good luck in your next location.", the corporal critiqued and pushed his horse forward as best he could to end the conversation.

...

Cold, muddy (he hoped it was mud - his snout was so swollen, it could have been chocolate cake), but at least he was out-of-doors. The hostages/prisoners were out on their alternate day foraging. Corporal Berries; one-eyed, broken-but-mending arm, was making an effort with his group. They'd been out for most of the day and didn't have much to show for it. Some baby-sized root vegetables, stray nuts that hadn't spoiled. They would be lucky to keep a third of the gatherings, the rest went up the chain.

Nurse Mary was tending the water wagon, sorting the vegetable collections, and generally watching out for those who needed help most. When he stood up to take a break, he'd look in her general direction. They only locked looks twice, each time mutual smiles were exchanged (before an avian would rudely interrupt their moment.)

Escape was a pretty far-fetched idea. The distance to any sort of cover was immense and the patrols were round the clock. Using clocks, made by the giants technology, once the birds figured out what they were for. For attempted escapes (there were no successful ones) their captors added the bonus of, for every escapee, two extras would be executed. Interdependence was a subtle and viable way for the limited number of birds to control this many prisoners. It also made snitching, real or fake, a high activity.

A martin, on the the farther end of youth, swooped down and nicked Berries on the back of an ear. "Bek werk, srave!" The bird's neck twisted, beak pointing in the next direction of the search. The corporal straightened up an began his trudge towards the next field.

He paired up with a three-legged fox, the missing leg poorly sutured and smelling poorly. Berries believed he didn't have long to last, and the fox's oration certified it.

"And I thought I had it bad.", the fox said with a wheeze. "I may have lost a leg, but the girls are willing to give up a lot in sympathy. In your case, I don't think a box full of leaves will get you any invitations; if you catch my drift."

Berries gave a polite laugh at that. "Well, excuse me collection buddy! Let me go set up a wagon so you can service this huge line you've got waiting." He waved to the other refugees in similar states. They both shared stifled laughs in order to prevent notice by their guards.

"Sgt. Lankee, Fifth Division , Recon, at your service. Or ex-service, if you want to be exact. I've been in this makeshift flea hatchery for a little over two winters now."

"Cpl. Berries, First Division, Third Platoon." They tapped paws as they shuffled in line. Berries continued, "Gossip has it that escape isn't well advised. Even if it were successful, we're pretty deep in their lines. Sure enough to get caught."

"Just over two thousand prisoners in this quaint facility have passed through the hallowed doors over the years.", the fox began. "Of these, just shy of three hundred have made attempts. In the early days, they just took 'em into the big, gray blockhouse - never seen 'em again. Then, the birds got more selective in their big-house invitations. But since more prisoners were coming in, they had to do something with the newbies. That's what got the one-for-three policy passed."

"Passed?", the corporal asked quizzically. "Like they had some sort of council set up?"

Lankee shrugged. "Just a bunch of senior scientists mixed with the military. The goons felt strongly about some of their ideas, so they put some of these objectionable scientists with the first batches of escapees. Sharing the wealth you could call it." The fox giggled into a coughing paroxysm that got noticed, but excused, by the guards.

Berries thought about that for a minute. "Well, where are the dead? I don't see and bone fields around, and I sure as heck wouldn't expect a decent burial from them."

"Well, that's the mystery then, kid. Only thing I can add is a day or two after you get invited inside, smoke comes out from the tall pipe - different colors; blue, orange, purple. Never black or white though. Kinda odd, right?"

Corporal Berries didn't have a chance to answer. The martin, backed by a burly crow, split up the prisoners to work the new field. More questions, more questions. No skeletons? Blue smoke? He didn't want to make a run for it and have the knowledge of a couple innocent deaths on his conscience. It would be better to get out with a group, veterans preferably. The costs would be the same, but at least one of them might get word back to command.

He needed more intel. The fox might have a few more tidbits, some other mammals would undoubtedly have different tidbits as well. Collecting them would take time, time that he had a hunch, he did not have. He stood up from picking a few grubs off the ground and saw Mary doing her best to rewrap someone's foot.
Yes, he thought. She had a lot of access to more than the prisoners, but she was a civilian. He couldn't predict how she would react when, not if, he asked for her help. Now all he needed to do was to get some time alone with her.

He took a deep breath and walked up behind the nearest crow...