OPERATION: RAGIN’ MOUSE

Lt. Rader Tarfire stood at the edge of the makeshift Forward Arming and Refueling Point (FARP), his gaze drifting across the flat expanse near Mya. The tension in the air was palpable, a heaviness that even the distant hum of activity around him couldn’t shake. His body felt like it was running on fumes, fatigue gnawing at the edges of his mind. They had liberated the Elves, but now the real battle was in keeping his unit alive long enough to make it home. The flat horizon ahead held the growing threat of the Austorians—and time was not on their side.

The radio crackled to life, piercing the heavy atmosphere.

“Alpha 1 Actual, this is Archer 2-8-2. Declaring an emergency, clear the area, we are coming in hot.

“Archer 2-8-2, This is Alpha 1 Actual, what kind of emergency, over.”

“Alpha 1 this is Checkmate 6 Delta. Declaring medical emergency. Request assistance immediately,” came the strained voice of Sergeant First Class Fangar Dineland, the Seraphim medic onboard.

“Checkmate 6 Delta, understood. Medical is on the ground waiting, out.”

Tarfire closed his eyes for a brief second, mentally bracing himself. Great. Another problem. The only medic they had, Thessa Brightclaw, was about to be ripped away when he needed her the most. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying to stay as professional as possible despite the weariness clawing at him. His fatigue mixed with anxiety—every second they stayed here was borrowed time.

A sense of doom had been eating away at him for hours now, ever since the first shots had been fired, and now that sinking feeling was growing. He was sure the Austorians had sent out a plea for reinforcements as soon as the first attack began. He could feel it deep in his bones, gnawing at him, even if it wasn’t visible on the surface. That only made the present moment worse.

"Just one more thing," Tarfire muttered under his breath, his tone snippy but restrained. He wanted to project strength, but inside, he was terrified. How the hell am I going to get my people out of here?

Thessa Brightclaw hurried over to him, her medic bag slung over her shoulder, her face showing signs of strain but determination. She knew what was coming even before Tarfire opened his mouth.

“Thessa, they need you as soon as they hit the ground. It sounds serious, I have a feeling you may need to go with them.” Tarfire said, his voice sharp but not intentionally harsh. He was losing control of the situation, and that terrified him more than anything.

Thessa’s face tightened. “Sir, if I go, we’ll have no medic on the ground here.”

“I know,” Tarfire said, rubbing his forehead, feeling the exhaustion ripple through him. “We’ve got wounded heroes up there, and now I’m stuck choosing between you staying here with the convoy or keeping them alive on that bird.” He looked at her, the weight of command heavy in his eyes. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Thessa hesitated, glancing at Keziah Wildrune, who had proven herself as a healer just earlier. “Keziah can handle the triage here. She’s good, and with the BUA training, possibly as good as Lieutenant Colonel Leafrune.”

Tarfire clenched his jaw. Great. Just great.

“Alright, if you have to go,” Tarfire said, his voice lowering, more resigned than he intended. “Keziah stays with us. However, I can’t afford to lose more people than I already have.”

Before Thessa could respond, the radio squawked again. This time it was Archer 2-8-1, the tiltrotor heading into battle.

“Alpha 1 Actual, this is Archer 2-8-1. We’ve got eyes on an incoming Austorian Division. Position updated on JCVAIL. We stopped them for the moment but we’re running black on rockets and 20mm. We need a resupply the second we land, we cant wait more than ten minutes, or they’re on top of us. Copy, over?”

Tarfire’s stomach twisted. So much for a breather. His mind raced. They needed time, and the only thing between them and the Austorians was Archer 2-8-1, buying them precious minutes before they were overrun. He had to give them the fastest re-arm and refuel of his life.

“Copy, Archer 2-8-1. You land, we’ll make it happen,” Tarfire said, his voice firm despite the pressure weighing him down. He glanced at the soldiers scrambling around him. “Ten minutes, people! Ten minutes or we’re dead!”

The radio clicked off. His heart pounded in his chest as he turned to Thessa. “Go, Corporal. If it comes to it get on that bird. Keep them alive.”

“Wait, ensure that PFC Syndall is on board too. She needs to get out as well.”

Thessa nodded, her face hardening with resolve. She ran toward the landing zone as Archer 2-8-2 descended, its rotors kicking up dust and debris as it touched down. Keziah was already there, waiting, ready to assist.

As the tiltrotor’s side door slid open, Thessa’s stomach dropped. Inside, it was worse than she had expected. Blood slicked the floor, and the air was thick with tension. Sergeant First Class Dineland, the Special Forces medic, was shouting orders.

“Corporal! We’ve got three critical! Ethan’s in bad shape. Akiko—” Dineland stopped as they both looked at the pale, bloodied woman slumped against the seat. “SHIT! Akiko’s going into shock. We need to stabilize her now.”

Thessa’s pulse raced. Focus. Don’t freeze up now.

Dineland barked for the AED, snapping Thessa out of her thoughts. She grabbed her kit and knelt beside Ethan, his breathing shallow and labored. Across from her, Keziah worked on Akiko, her magic and herbal knowledge barely keeping the woman conscious.

“Corporal,” Dineland called over the roar of the tiltrotor. “We can’t get them to BurnTalon. They won’t make it. We have to divert to Firgan Military Hospital, and Im going to need extra hands.”

Thessa nodded, her voice barely a whisper, “Agreed.”

She glanced at Akiko, whose pale face betrayed more than just physical injuries. It was clear the woman had been tortured, and the sight brought flashes of trauma from Thessa’s past. She felt the bile rise in her throat as memories of the “Houses” came flooding back, the screams, the terror. She had to fight it down. Stay in the moment, stay in control.

“Keziah,” Thessa called over, her voice steady despite the chaos. “I need you to stay with the convoy. You’re their only healer now.”

Keziah nodded, her face betraying nothing but determination. “I’ll handle it.”

Lt. Tarfire arrived just in time to hear the exchange. His heart sank further, knowing he was about to lose Thessa—their only true medic.

Two soldiers came up with a stretcher with an unconscious Syndall. “Load her up carefully.” Brightclaw said as they put the stretcher on the Tiltrotor, locking it to the floor of the aircraft.

“Who is she?” Asked Dineclaw.

“Someone who needs more help than we can give.” Lt. Tarfire stated. Dineclaw nodded and checked her vitals.

Keziah looked over one of the other Seraphim when Lt. Tarfire got her attention.

“Keziah, head to Alpha 2. You’re taking over,” Tarfire ordered. He didn’t have the luxury of hesitation. He gave her a firm nod, his eyes betraying the fatigue pulling at him from within. But there was no room for fear right now. He had to project strength, even if he felt like crumbling inside.

“Move! We’re out of time!” The pilot’s voice blasted over the comms.

As Thessa secured her gear and boarded Archer 2-8-2, Archer 2-8-1 came into view, descending hard for its rearm and refuel. The ground crew rushed into action. Crates of 20mm ammo were hurriedly unloaded, rockets prepared as soldiers worked against the clock.

The tiltrotor barely touched down before the crew chief’s call rang out. “Get that ammo loaded, now! We’ve got no time to waste! We bought some time, but I know they saw which direction we flew towards.”

As the chaos around him escalated, Tarfire watched the clock tick down, every second feeling like another moment closer to their deaths. Archer 2-8-1’s refuel had to be perfect—no delays, no mistakes. The Division was almost upon them.

His stomach churned as Archer 2-8-2 lifted off, Thessa and the wounded heroes onboard. Please, get them there safely.

Tarfire stood watching the chaos unfold as crates of ammunition were hurriedly loaded into Archer 2-8-1. We need time. Just as he turned away, a familiar voice snapped him out of his thoughts. 1st Lt. Ryan Roundtooth, Archer 2-8-1’s pilot, already approaching, his face grim.

“Rader, we can buy you some time so you can run without them chasing but it won’t last long. We will hit them hard and make them think the attack came from somewhere else. as we’ll make it a point to turn for the Murlan River. Once across we will make run to the FOB at Leythbrook.”

Tarfire frowned, his friend from OCS rarely liked to be serious.

“And, Rader,” Roundtooth added, his voice dropping lower, “don’t stick around once we’re airborne. That division has magic cavalry—kind of like heavy infantry, but on horses. The 30mm on those vehicles might slow them down but it is not going to stop them. And those Magic fire Lances can cut through several feet of rock, our armor doesn’t stand a chance. If you had some missiles or rockets, you might stop them but,” Roundtooth said, shaking his head. “Your best bet? Run. Fast. Leave anything that you can live without, I say leave the boxes and the crates, toss any trash and exfil as fast as those trucks can go. Good Luck Rader.” Ryan said dejected.

Tarfire looked around, “Ok We need to get out of here.”

He began yelling to the Unit. “Leave those empties, leave any expended dunnage. Get everyone on board that’s going with us, we need to leave once 2-8-1 is off the ground. LETS GO PEOPLE!!”

He ran over to the Elven Transports, “Brodi, I need you to get your people out of here now. Do you have everything and the provisions?” He spoke in rapid Elvish.

“Yes, thank you my Friend, Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” Brodi stated in Elvish. He quickly said something in Elvish and the last of the people got on board.

“I wish your people and your army a swift victory. I hope, no, I know I will meet you again.” Brodi stated in Royal Elvish and gave a Royal Elven Knights Salute

Tarfire returned the salute as Brodi snapped the reins and began to quickly leave down the road towards Mirra.

“LOADED!! LET’S GO GET ‘EM!!” Yelled one of 2-8-1s Crew Chiefs as they boarded the Gunship. Archer 2-8-1 rotors began to spin and in a few moments were airborne and climbing.

Tarfire quickly began shouting, “LET GO, LEAVE IT IF YOU DON’T NEED IT!! LET’S GO!!”

“Sir! What about the prisoners?” one of the guards asked, his voice tense, looking at the line of Austorians seated in the dirt, blindfolded and bound.

SSG Wellknife walked over to Lt. Tarfire. "Sir, the prisoners are asking if we will take them with us."

Lt. Tarfire raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Why? Why would they want to come with us?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, sir,” Wellknife said, exasperated, “you can ask them yourself. They’re pretty adamant about not staying behind.”

Tarfire, already weighed down by fatigue and the pressing need to move out, sighed and walked over to the POWs. "I don’t have a lot of time. Why do you want to come with us? You’ll still be prisoners."

One of the taller Austorians stood up, his voice calm but desperate. “Sir, may I speak for them?”

Tarfire, with a hint of disbelief, nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Sir, as you’re an officer, you must understand our situation. If we go back to the Austorian Army, they’ll kill us. It’s considered desertion if we’re captured after a defeat. The penalty is death. Most of us, we’re not even real soldiers—we’re expendable prisoners they throw into battle.”

Tarfire’s curiosity piqued. “What crime did you commit?” he asked.

The Austorian hesitated but then spoke openly. “I questioned a local lord. For that, I was sentenced to life imprisonment. Then one day, the Royal Guard came, and out of nowhere, they shackled us, fitted those control helmets on our heads. I watched a man try to run... the helmet took his head clean off. They laughed and told us that would be our fate, no matter what. We were told if our officer died, the whole unit would perish.”

“And yet, here you are,” Tarfire said, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes, sir. Your weapons... they must’ve disabled the helmets or something. And you’ve treated us with a respect we’ve never known. We’d rather be your prisoners than die as soldiers for them. Please, sir, take us with you.”

Tarfire looked at the man for a long moment, then at the other prisoners, most of whom nodded in agreement. He took a step back, turning toward Alpha 6, conferring with SSG Wellknife and a few others.

After a moment, he returned. “I believe your story. We’ll take you with us, but understand this—it won’t be a pleasant ride. You’ll remain as you are: blindfolded, bound, and under guard until we reach a proper facility. Any attempt to escape, and we leave you behind. We won’t come back for you. Is that understood?”

The tall Austorian nodded, and after a brief pause, ten of the fourteen prisoners agreed to come along. The other four, looking grim but resolved, took the three days of rations and water offered and left to face their fate alone.

Tarfire turned to the guard as they began loading the prisoners into the back of Alpha 6. “Listen,” he said, his tone firm, “I don’t care what the Austorians did to you or anyone you know. These prisoners are under our protection now. They’re not to be brutalized unless they try to revolt. If one of them tries to jump, let him—don’t stop him. But you cannot force them out. Once we reach Outpost Yasumin, they’ll be handed over to Military Police and Intel. Got it?”

The young guard eyed the prisoners for a moment, then nodded, understanding the gravity of his orders. “Yes, sir. Understood.”

“Good.”

In minutes, the trucks were loaded, engines roaring to life. Echo 3-2 took point, leading the convoy, while Echo 3-1 took up the rear guard. Lt. Tarfire took one last look at the departing prisoners, knowing the choices they had all made could mean the difference between life and death.

Tarfire glanced back one last time as Archer 2-8-1 lifted off, the ground rumbling beneath him. In the distance, faint but unmistakable, dust clouds rose on the horizon. The Austorians were coming. And now, they were out of time.