Chapter Two

Mermites will bring happiness

Snackler sensed his target nearing. Soon the steps, the trudging footfalls could be heard. This poor soul walked towards an explosive charge. In somewhen, it was probable that man would be walking into certain death. Snackler probed his thoughts briefly.

"Cold, I'm so cold. Fuckin' no place to sit, no place! Fuckin' fuck, fuck. Sick of walking. It's so fucking cold." His thoughts were colorful.

The vernacular was of interest to Snackler. 'Fuck,' fucking would surely warm up this man. Snackler listened deeper. It became apparent this was a young man, barely a man. He was still a pup, really, and he had no idea what a fuck really was. Sheltered and kept ignorant by his parents, he had been thrust into this miserable conflict, as had most of the men in this time sector. Countless instances of him would undoubtedly trip over the wire. Fall on their face and explosively enter oblivion.

"Well fuck," thought Snackler with a toothy grin.

This one instance would be different. Boy/man would live through the day and on to learn what fucking really is. Likely, that fucking was the reason, the purpose for Snackler's mission of intervention. Whatever pups came of that union might grow into someone important, or their pups would. Snackler didn't know at this moment, but he may in the future at some briefing for a mission, maybe even a conversation in the lunchroom on ROM.

The lunchroom! Snackler's stomach mumbled, and he realized it was approaching transition time. Missing a meal had not been in this current mission's briefing. He would have objected if it had been. There is a time and a place for everything under heaven, and eating is included in everything by default.

Snackler shifted into lunchtime overdrive. This situation did not have to end badly for the freezing manboy. Diverting his path would put him on track for a warm meal. A reunion with his platoon and surviving this awful war. Where sometime in his future, there would be the fucking on his mind. Pups would be the result, which would be the conclusion of another successful mission for Snackler. Then there would be macaroons. The most essential part of lunchtime.

Snackler gave out a menacing growl.

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Loud enough and scary enough to get the attention of the still-living human. It worked. The fuck, fuck, fuck I'm cold nonsense ceased, and the boy took in his surroundings. A wolf would ruin completely an already terrifying day. Snackler used this moment to send him a vision. Cat's eyes to the left. Those glowing 'eyes' on the back of his battle buddy's helmet were not actually there. Snackler thought the image into his mind. These cat’s eyes had nothing to do with cats and everything to do with finding his squad, reuniting with his platoon, and getting a warm meal, which they both wanted desperately.

The ‘cat's eyes’ were actually tiny glowing florescent tabs on a rubber band. The band fit over all the steel pots these men wore on their heads. They walked day or night following the leader at intervals that still allowed them to see their buddy's cat’s eyes. This way, they could stick together and remain an effective team. All the while maintaining proper noise and light discipline. Be quiet, stay dark, and live to fight another day. There was no other way. They couldn’t imagine not making it. Sure, some guys shit the bed, but that was always someone else involved in some stupid situation.

The cat's eyes vision had been enough. More than fucking, the most important thing for this guy was to find his buddies, gather around some mermites and eat whatever lukewarm slop the mess sergeant had sent. The helicopter that delivered the chow was the platoon's lifeline to the world back home. Letters were passed back and forth, and the crew chief always gave them a smile, standing on the skid as he handed the heavy food containers to them from the back of his bird. The pilot didn't ever give him time to get back in before flitting away. Too much exposure was unhealthy, and the crew chief would have to crawl back into the moving helicopter as it skipped and flitted across the landscape, contouring the features, hoping to avoid an untimely end.

The man veered left, which kept him from tripping and exploding his stupid head. This dummy would indeed see the cat's eyes soon and rejoin his squad.

"Yet another successful mission for Snackler, the super-dog." He mused to himself with a toothy Joker grin.

He felt it, then he heard it. His acute senses picked up the shimmering of his pod even before the light of its presence burst into the night sky, momentarily lighting things up like a white phosphorus flare. It seemed brighter than the Sun to him, but the fraction of a second barely registered to the humans. They never understood what the light was and thought it was their brain playing tricks with them. However, it was not a trick. It was the appearance of Snackler's ride. His pod. The pod would bring him back to ROM, lunch, and Laqueesha, his human.

If they reacted at all, the soldiers would just hit the deck, their bellies married to the mud in hopes of not being seen. Everyone's main priority was avoiding death by not being a target silhouetted by the ‘flare's’ light. Only Snackler knew this was his superluminal date with the lunchroom had arrived. The light, being the bursting of time-space as his pod broke the barrier of this time sector's hyper-pyramid. Snackler stood still and waited as the beam descended, levitating him toward his rendezvous with lunch.