Foxtrot Alpha Indigo Lima

The compound was run down, but showed plenty of signs of recent work. Lights shone, grass was cut, broken windows were boarded. The intricate stained glass window was very out of place: new, polished, and colourful. It looked somewhat like a college campus, if a little small. Smyth whispered, using the scope on his rifle. "Where's the football field." "They don't have one," Summers grunted. "Some school." Smyth spat on the ground, scowling. Russet hissed over the radio. "Quiet on comms!" The group fell into a begrudging silence, checking their weapons and ordinance.

The plan was simple. Neutralise and extract. The fuzzies numbered from 20 to 50, but there were an exact count of 12 human children. Rescue the humans, deal with the fuzzies as needed. Stealth was utmost until it was broken, with open gunfire as a last resort. They had seen what the fuzzies could do, risks were not to be taken. The group moved in a circle around the compound. Drop off via an electric truck was near the gates, but the piercing point of attack was almost on the other side. Weapons ready, safeties off, all eyes watched the Captain, who gave the scene one last review with a set of infrared binoculars. A simple pointing motion meant a go. All eleven moved in as one. A pair were quickly visible, a fuzzy with massive antlers, and a human boy. Scoped rifles trained on the antlers, ready to take down the threat, others moving in to extract the boy.

Team Beta was almost close enough when hushed yelps spluttered over comms, a guttural roar echoed through the treeline. Chaos erupted.

Just feet away from the poor brainwashed child, Summers was violently flung backwards, falling as if to the Earth, vanishing into a dark circle rimmed with wobbling with purple edges. Smyth ran after him, trying to grab, but was stopped by a wall of thick fur, floored, gazing up at a howl-roaring bear. Hollering and opening fire, Smyth panicked, the bear screaming in pain, rearing upward and slamming down, once, wandering off in a lope, limping.

Summers fell into the branches of a tree, hanging upside down, taking a good minute to fight dizziness, shaking his head and going through a jittery weapons check. He swept the scene, found a absolutely-fuzzy-shaped outline, and opened fire.

Connor and Stewart moved back to the treeline, immediately finding the giraffe-fuzzy, back to a tree. Hoisting pistols in unison, they fired, shredding the bark as it slipped straight downwards into a convenient hole. Hurried inspection showed no hole and all, but two thuds to the back of the head, one each, put them down.

But it was surrounded. The entire remaining company trained weapons, Russet moving in, grinning wide.

He went to raise his hand, and vanished in a puff of smoke.

As the group checked comms, distracted, two wolves leaped at the snipers, taking them down with bites to the shoulder, a flock of screeching bats filling the air with leathery wings.

Parker fired his rifle wildly, carried away by a tree flying arrow-like, trunk slamming into him base-first.

The remaining men pulled into a terrified huddle. As the bats cleared, two figures approached. A strange wolf-thing, like a centaur. A mighty dragon, tall and dark.

A light made them all turn, as another black-circle appeared, the tall and elegant giraffe stepping out of it.

Russet raised his weapon, spitting hatefully. "You're not welcome here, alien!"

A squirrel fell from the trees above, biting him swiftly, dashing away with the pistol, vanishing into the underbrush.

The giraffe approached, arms behind its back, naked, calm.

"The only thing alien here, is your attitude."

And they fell, downward into blackness, blinded by sudden light and movement, crashing into salty water. The waves gently but rudely dumped them on a beach, palm trees swaying, the sun abruptly overhead.

Russet roared angrily, punching the sand.