A/N

So, Tiny Metal has been announced on Kickstarter, making me wish (again) that we could have a fifth Advance Wars game. Anyway, minor point, but the insignia of the White Fangs did remind me of Brenner's Wolves from Days of Ruin, so it did get me to drabble this up.

A Time of Wolves

Nathan hated the White Fangs as soon as he saw them.

Granted, he'd held disdain for the nomads long before now, but seeing was believing, and right now, he had little belief that they'd be valuable allies in the war that was to come. At least the Zipang were an organized nation. They had their warrior creed, their own culture, their own functioning society…a society that Artemisia was currently at war with, but a society nonetheless. The White Fangs were…what, he wondered? Nomads? Mercenaries? Scum?

Nothing.

That's what he told himself as the jeeps rolled up. Nothing. Less than nothing. But still nothing armed with heavy calibre machine guns attached to vehicles that his tanks could take out with a single volley, but not before they killed him and the troopers alongside him. His master sergeant had offered himself for the job, but he'd refused. These were White Fangs. He wouldn't be intimidated by them, any more than their…slightly…maybe…attractive…leader, who, walked out of the head jeep and looked over towards him.

Nothing.

"So," she said. "Another war, another boy." She smirked. "Are you shaving yet?"

Nathan walked over towards her – one hand on a pistol, the other on an envelope in a lower pocket. His men stayed in place, as did the White Fangs.

"Bloody hell, you've still got spots."

Nathan tried to keep his composure in front of the White Fangs' commander. "I'm not sure if my age is relevant."

"If we're going to be fighting alongside you, I think it might be."

"I'd be far more concerned with my capabilities than my age."

"Really?" she asked. "Well, time will tell. What have you got for me?"

Nathan remained silent.

"Oh, come on, you're still a boy, you're not here on your own volition." She smiled. "That's how the chain of command works, ain't it? Boss upstairs pulls the strings, you walk, and if you don't, you stumble."

"You're not in a position to talk to me about chain of command."

"And you shouldn't be talking at all. So, if you don't have anything worth saying, you-"

Nathan handed her the envelope. "Classified orders from-"

She snatched it in a second, and tore it open in the next. As she read it, Nathan recalled what he knew of her – "Wolfram." That was the only name that Artemisian intelligence knew her by. It wasn't even sure if it was her real name. All that was known was that she was the leader of the White Fangs, that she'd lost her brother in a previous war with Zipang, and that she was a crack shot.

"Alliance…payment…mercenaries…blah blah blah." She tossed the envelope aside. "Piss off."

Nathan blinked. The White Fangs were insufferable, but this? This was beyond the pale. So was her turning around and gesturing towards her fellow nomads, without giving him a second glance. And all he could think of was that his career as an officer was evaporating before him.

"You can't keep out of this war forever!"

"Watch me," she called back. She climbed inside one of her jeeps – it was completely open to the elements, but the 50 cal. on its back would have made that sufficient protection in most circumstances. Not enough to stop Nathan from walking up to it, but enough to make him aware that at such close range, his body would be cut in two by a hail of lead if the gunner so chose.

"I can help re-negotiate terms," he said. "If you-"

"I said no," Wolfram answered.

"But-"

"See boys?" Wolfram laughed. "All spots, no hair, no muscle, no brain." Her lackeys chuckled. "Listen, Sergeant-"

"Lieutenant."

"Whatever. The White Fangs? We're done. Go fight your war. Kill each other. We'll just keep back on the sidelines, laugh, and pick up the pieces when you're done. Who knows? You might even survive long enough to become my boy toy."

"Go to hell," Nathan snarled.

"Hmm, you're right – you're as good as broken anyway. I don't like broken things."

"But you're a White Fang," Nathan said. "Broken. That's what you are." He looked at all of them. "Oh, yes, I know all about you. I know you wear the White Wolf. How you claim to be of the lineage of Brenner. Of Brenner's Wolves, of Hope Village. How nice to see that his legacy is a band of thieves who-"

It happened so quickly. One moment he was talking, remembering past history. How a millennium ago, the war between Lazuria and Rubinelle was ended by a meteor strike that eliminated both nations, and most of the people who lived in them. How Captain Brenner had led the 12th Legion to victory, uniting people of both parties. Although it had been Commander Will who had seen the conflict to its end, it was Brenner who was remembered. It was Brenner who the White Fangs gave thanks to. Who condemned Zipang and Artemisa for waging war, when war was meant to have been ended a millennium ago. It had taken that long for mankind to rebuild, and the White Fangs wanted nothing to do with any nation as a result.

That was his thoughts summed up in a moment. The next, Wolfram had a knife to his throat, and her fellow Fangs were aiming down their rifles.

"Sir, we-"

"Hold!" He yelled to his men. No need to make this more of a FUBAR.

"Listen to me," Wolfram whispered. "You don't get to mention his name. You don't get to invoke it. And don't you dare talk to me about legacy."

"Why?" Nathan whispered. "You don't have any."

The knife pressed further. Enough to draw blood.

"Oh yes," Nathan continued, fighting the urge to wince as blood trickled down his neck. "Countries, wars, we know your story. But who do you think history is going to remember? The countries that New Hope Village led to? Or some sad bunch of cunts who decided to not stand for anything?"

"What do you stand for?" she whispered.

"Freedom, honour, duty."

"Funny," she said. "The Zipang who tried to enlist us said the same thing."

The blade was withdrawn and rifles lowered, leaving Nathan to process the fact that Zipang was trying to ally with the White Fangs as well. That, at least, would be news worth reporting, if only for the propaganda front. Because if they couldn't have the White Fangs, then they'd tarnish anyone else who tried to claim them.

"So," Wolfram said. "War's come again."

"It has," Nathan said.

"Huh." She spun the knife through her fingers, its blade weaving in and out of its hilt. "Well, I could see myself helping one of you."

"What?"

"Oh yes. Maybe one of you will wipe the other out, and that'll be one less nation to deal with."

"While you take over."

"Think that, if you want. Meanwhile, I'd go about trying to make me a better offer." She smiled, winked, and to his gall, Nathan watched as she blew him a kiss. "You're a cutie. Try not to die when the bullets start flying."

Gries, Nathan, Second Lieutenant, Artemisian Army, stood there, aghast. Even more so as he watched Wolfram and the Fangs ride off like the bandits that they were, their jeeps kicking up dust in their wake. This was…intolerable. Insufferable. Unacceptable.

"Sir, are you-"

"Contact Fort Dinae," he said, barely giving the master sergeant a glance as he headed back to his men. "Tell them that they need to make the Fangs a better offer."

"Sir, you-"

"Damn it, I'm going to get her…I mean them." He took a sip from his hip flask. "We're going to get them, we're going to use them, and Brenner help us, we'll pay them. We-"

"Sir, you're bleeding."

Nathan stopped cold. Remained in place as he wiped away the blood. Remained cold as he looked his master sergeant in the eye.

"Blood," he said. "Don't worry Master Sergeant, I'm used to it."

So he got in the jeep. Made a gesture with one hand for his driver to take him back to camp.

And his other hand on his sidearm the entire time.