Grandeur Defector

XIV

Dawn's sun rays warmed the top of the mangrove and evergreen trees, the birds of paradise beginning to sing their songs like usual. Truffles was already awake, not getting much sleep in the slightest from thinking about his trench duties the day before.
The sound of rustling startled him, his fur spiking. The shadow of a man morphing from Flippy to The General himself spooked him.
Flippy...? ....General..?
Warren stepped into his tent.

"Good news. Otto has reported to me that you kicked ass doing chores, so guess what? Day two, fucker."

That I what-? Maybe that means I did a good job-?
Truffles sat up, ready for the day to begin again and ask more questions to Otto and the new Animalia soldiers he'd met.

"One more thing. Yesterday you mentioned explosives, right?"

Uh oh.
Truffles nodded, unsure of what Warren was about to ask next.

"Is that your assigned role? You're a ground bomber, ain't you?"

...Well, that isn't entirely inaccurate.
Truffles nodded, pointing to his golden belt around his waist. He showed the locations of grenade pockets in his uniform jacket, and the spots on his pants that could hold TNT sticks.
Warren stared in deep thought and rubbed his chin.

"Gotcha. Well, how good is your aim?"

He remembered his assessment numbers when The General made him practice daily until the number was higher than 95%.
"I have 96% accuracy from up to 200 feet, sir."

Warren shot him a look of surprise.
"That's mighty impressive, pussy cat. Seems like you're an advanced soldier. Change of plans, you'll be playin' with the big boys today."

Uhh... W-What?
Warren unhooked his wrist chains again, and began leading him into the camp. Instead of heading towards the trench from yesterday, Warren took a left. The sound of struggling grunts and groans grew louder as they came into a clear opening with an obstacle course.
Large, muscular men were heaving tree logs up the hill on their backs, one rolling cumbersome down the side of the hill as the man, a buffalo, ran after it. It rolled until the buffalo forced it to stop, the muscles in both of his arms stretching and shining through. Onlookers clapped and whistled, some hooting and hollering.
Flippy was no where to be seen, despite Truffles expecting him to be here.
Why am I here? I'm 5 foot 2 and all of these people are above 5'11" at least-!

Warren nudged his shoulder.
"You see that flag on the top of that stand?"

Truffles admired what Warren was pointing at. It was a tall structure, taller than any man, completely vertical with a small green flag on top of it. There were deep claw marks into the wood, a testament of how many people attempted to get the flag from the top.

"That's for felines. Get the flag first before any of your fellow felidae get it, and you get a second portion of beef noodles."

Beef noodles? I LOVE beef noodles... though, it's called Con hổ phố back home.
Truffles nodded, understanding what Warren was implying. Warren turned to the men.

"ANY FELINES WANNA GANDER WITH THE PRISONER?"

That sounded like I'm THREATENING the competition. Oh god.
Instantly, a few felines perked up, eagerness in their shining eyes. A few men stepped forward, flexing their muscles ready for the challenge. Warren paused, scanning the crowd.

"Ay Olive! Go get Cass!"

Corporal Olive bowed her head in respect from afar, then walked off somewhere into the main part of camp. Warren turned to Truffles, who had been eyeing the competition.