Geronimo for Hope! -by Caroline Furlong

*I hope Caroline doesn’t mine my revealing that she’s a member of the Chinchilla of Hope group. This group of insane people cheered me through No Man’s Land and convinced me I shouldn’t in fact give the project up because “it will never sell.” As we know they were right. How they got their name was because I threaten them with Chinelos (the Portuguese version of chancla) when they misbehave. One of them is tragically dyslexic — I’ll let her out herself IF she wishes — and so got this as “chinchilla”. Next thing I know, I’m moping and she’s threatening me with the chinchilla of hope.
As such things do, it took wing, and now members of the Chinchilla of hope are writing stories. Caroline posted a tiny bit of this as a throw away thing, and I asked her to write the full story. Here it is! (You’re welcome.)

Geronimo for Hope! -by Caroline Furlong

Nose twitching in the waning light, Geronimo held his stick still, willing his whiskers not to move. The rest of the 15^th Hope Regiment were in the trees, waiting for his signal.

Winter clung to the land even though spring’s first breath brushed the grass and trees. By far, the grass was in better condition, with the trees still mostly naked. A few had buds sprouting on them here, and up the street a couple of ornamental pears had already bloomed, their snowy flowers missed in the mass of gray by all but the most attentive humans.

The sky had begun to gray over. It wasn’t a natural gray, not at all, and certainly not in the afternoon of a nascent spring day. Rain wasn’t due today, they had checked with the air sprites. That had been…interesting. Dealing with the Fair Folk often was, but these sprites had tested everyone’s patience with their forgetfulness. Poor Corporal Terrence had barely avoided shouting, he became so frustrated.

Flighty things, air sprites. Must come with the territory, Geronimo decided, scanning the ground. Sniffing, he tried to see if he could scent their prey.

No good, there was no wind. This gray mist over the sky was all the warning they were likely to get.

His chinchillas were good, though. They wouldn’t so much as twitch without the signal. Hope Corps knew they could rely on Geronimo’s regiment to get the job done, with minimal to no casualties, too. Not that he liked to rely on or brag about that; he had worked his way up through the ranks from Felix’s squad. Bragging tempted fate and made chinchillas less likely to watch their tails. Some pride was warranted – they did good work. But too much was bad for everyone, especially their clients.

Today’s client was a Mrs. Halifax, a codename, for safety’s sake. In this case, the target seemed to be Mrs. Halifax’s oldest son. He wasn’t doing well – not seeing friends, barely leaving his room, constantly arguing with his sister and brother. The latter wasn’t entirely unusual for a young teen boy but combined with the rest, it was cause for concern.

Mr. Halifax had tried talking to his son, several times. It had seemed to work, only then he had been deployed, and what progress had been made had slipped away. The Black Dog had returned with greater power than before.

So far it appeared there was only one dog. They had done recon, of course. Geronimo wasn’t going to risk his chinchillas’ tails like that. Regiments that didn’t get the lay of the land were asking to lose members. If it was necessary to rescue a client, then he would accept the loss. Otherwise, no.

Geronimo swept his eyes over the gray/brown ground between the trees. Lawns were showing green more than these areas, where last year’s leaves still lay deep and thick. Squirrels, those annoying cousins of his race, raced across the ground, setting up a cacophony and making hearing difficult. Blast those daft creatures, couldn’t they do their kinoodling some other time…?

Almost as he thought that, the squirrels paused. Held still, except for the odd flash of a tail. Geronimo felt his chinchillas tense.

Squirrels took off, bolting for holes or climbing up trees. A stealthy shadow moved over the ground, hardly disturbing the leaves beneath his paws. That was the trouble with Black Dogs. Unless they were looking for them, humans couldn’t see them. Sense them, hear them, yes – if they paid attention. Most didn’t because the aura a Dog brought in its wake only magnified the lies they whispered in their heads.

Unaffected by the squirrels’ panic, his chinchillas readied themselves. Branches didn’t move as paws gripped, relaxed, then gripped again. Teeth flashed in grimaces or grins while fur fluffed or smoothed down, each member of his regiment preparing ahead of their jump.

After a quick look at his men, Geronimo zeroed in on the Dog again for a better look. He blinked. Oh, he knew this one!

Wagging an ear, then another, Geronimo raised the stick. His chinchillas caught the message, shifting minutely. The Dog continued on, looking nothing so much like a pitch-black Doberman that had been on a diet of meat. He was thickly muscled and bore himself like a king.

Light seemed not to touch him, except where his eyes were concerned. Now they burned almost black but in the dark they would be coals of red. Geronimo grinned, remembering the last time he had looked into those eyes.

The Dog walked beneath the regiment, and Geronimo dropped the stick.

Dark eyes tracked toward the sound the stick made when it landed in the leaves and so the Dog didn’t see the 15^th Hope Regiment jump, the glamour falling from their pink suits. Pink would not have been Geronimo’s first choice for a color, but it always caught the enemy off-guard. Tended to send some Black Dogs running with their tails between their legs, too, which did help with missions occasionally.

But this time their prey was too slow. By the time the Dog looked up they were on him, cutting loose from their parachutes with the ululating war cries that caused humans to say “Aww!”, Fae to wince, and Black Dogs to fall to the ground whimpering.

While his ears pinched and he shook, this Dog was too strong to simply fall. He put up a good image of a fight, snapping and whirling even as Scathlock and Pip landed on his collar. Some were thrown off but not with such force that they risked harm.

They made it look good, though. Had to. If word got back to the Dogs, he would be in trouble. Geronimo himself howled out another war cry as he didn’t bother deploying the parachute, jumping and aiming for the snapping jaw.

He hit him with enough force to stun and then hung on as the rest of the Regiment swarmed up and onto the Dog’s back. Each of them swelled in size, feeding off one another’s triumph and strength, rallying with cheers and encouragement. It was enough to make the Dog stumble, his knees buckling. He tried to stand up….

Zena was faster. Geronimo’s second in command had retrieved the stick and now used it to open a portal directly to headquarters. A foolish move, if this had been any other Dog, but perfectly safe with this one.

They landed in the base’s deployment bay as Rufus fell to his belly, huffing a laugh. “You got me,” he wheezed, eyes flashing bright as he finally grinned. “Mind getting off so I can breathe, at least?”

Geronimo hopped off his snout. Most of the Regiment followed suit, but some clung to Rufus regardless – including that scamp, Pip. Geronimo glared at him but his nephew grinned back and dug his claws in. With an annoyed eyeroll, Geronimo accepted his stick back from Zena as the team’s sorceress passed it on. “What’s the situation, Rufus?”

“Boy’s dissatisfied with his life,” the Dog rumbled, shaking his head sadly. “Can’t entirely blame him, he’s being bullied at school. Won’t tell his parents, thinks he should handle it himself.”

“Friends?” Zena asked, materializing a pen, clipboard, and paper in her paws.

“None bigger or stronger than he is,” Rufus said, settling on his haunches. That caused most of those who had hung on to finally slide off, but Pip used it as the opportunity to climb higher and settle on the Dog’s shoulder. “They’re at more risk than he is. It’s part of why he’s being bullied. He’s protecting them.”

Whistling through his teeth, Geronimo looked over Zena’s shoulder as she dashed off the information. “Going to need Randy and his Specialists for this, I think,” he told her. The Hope Corps had Regiments to fight Black Dogs and Specialists to deal with purely human problems. Most got into position by acting as pets, but others found different ways to help humans more directly. Randy and his team were particularly good at it.

Nodding, Zena looked up at Rufus. “Anything else we should know?” she asked.

“If you don’t get him help quick, Command’s going to send a whole pack,” Rufus said grimly. “They know if they push the kid, they get more than despair. They get him dead at least, a lot of others hurt or dead at worst.”

“Our information suggests he’s stronger than that,” Sergeant Terrence said, frowning.

Rufus’ smile had no humor but also no menace. Just a weary sadness. “Even better, as far as they’re concerned. If they can’t break him, they get to train pups on him – and maybe spread influence to the ones he’s protecting.”

“Put a priority note in there for Randy,” Geronimo growled. “Thanks, Rufus. You were the one assigned…?”

“The only one,” Rufus confirmed, nodding. “I did my best, made sure to keep it down, but…he’s in a bad way, Ger. You need to get people on it, now.”

Geronimo made a sharp gesture and Zena put the clipboard in her mouth before taking off for the elevator that would bring her up directly to the General. He refocused on Rufus. “And how long has it been since you were, ah, in our custody?” he asked the Dog.

Ears drooping, Rufus let his exhaustion show as he bent his head so they could look one another in the eye. “Too long. Geronimo, please. I don’t think I can go back.”

“I told you last time there might not be any more fight left in you,” he said gruffly. Then Geronimo moved forward to put a paw on his leg. “Talk to the General. We can work something out, I’m sure. Some of your brothers are meant to keep up the fight, but you’ve more Dog than Black in you. Let Zelie do her work while we talk with the Powers That Be about arranging a home for you.”

A sigh whooshed out of the canine’s mouth, ruffling his fur. The big Dog nodded and his ears perked up. “Zelie’s back in charge?” he asked.

“Did I hear someone call my name?” a voice caroled – literally. Zelie’s shouts were almost always pitched with magic to ring around a room to get attention, mostly because even by chinchilla standards, she was tiny.

Rolling his eyes, Geronimo turned toward her, putting his paws on his hips as the Regiment and all the other workers in the deployment bay parted for Zelie and her troop of makeup artists. All wore feathers, makeup, beads, or ribbons in one or another shade of pink. The diminutive figure at their head wrinkled her nose at Geronimo before turning her face up to Rufus. “Dahling, it has been too long! You look awful, this won’t do! What do you want this time? The full treatment? Or the Special?”

“Special,” Rufus answered as Pip, seeing his aunt had come and not wanting his own makeover, slid down from the Dog’s shoulders. The rest of the miscreants had scattered long before.

Geronimo reached out and snatched the boy’s ear, causing him to yip as Rufus stood up. “Do you have any more of that hot pink nail polish? Please tell me you have that same raspberry conditioner….”

“You’re in luck!” Geronimo’s sister said, eyes sparkling. “We just got a new delivery. LADIES!” she sing-songed louder. “We are running the Special! I need the hot pink nail polish, the rosette bow, raspberry conditioner – and a perm?” she asked, squinting up at Rufus. When the big dog nodded she snapped her fingers. “Hup hup! Daylight is burning! Move it, ladies!”

Murmuring, the chinchillas behind her soon had Rufus surrounded as they ushered him down the hall to the private baths. Thankfully, those were reserved only for agents or defectors, so he would be safe. If they put him in with the regular captives, it’d be a slaughter.

None of which made Geronimo shake his nephew any less firmly, still holding him by the ear. “And what did you mean by that tomfoolery, you chipmunk?” he growled at Pip. “You know protocol dictated that once he’d let his head down and gotten the despair out of his chest, you were supposed to get off.”

“But it wasn’t all gone!” Pip yelped. “I –”

“You,” Geronimo growled, “are lucky you’re getting KP duty and that I didn’t let Zelie take you to the baths.”

The young chinchilla gulped, then looked up at his uncle, determined. “We’re supposed to bring hope to everyone. Sir.”

“Hmph,” Geronimo said, finally letting go of his ear to glare at him. Pip winced and rubbed the ear, then looked up at his uncle defiantly. “I think it’s time I had a talk with Randy,” Geronimo told him grudgingly. “He was right, all those years ago. You’re Specialist material, not Regiment.”

Pip’s ears fell, then lifted, his eyes lighting bright. Geronimo couldn’t hide a smile. After all, they were the Hope Corps, and they were in fact meant to bring hope to everyone. His nephew qualified as part of “everyone.”

Which didn’t mean he got off lightly. “Report for KP duty, stat,” he barked at the youth. “I want tonight’s nuts peeled better than they ever have been. Then we’ll see, once Randy gets done with his assignment for the Halifax boy, if he’ll take your ungrateful hide into his unit.”

Chest puffing out, Pip saluted. “Sir!”

(And if you’re curious, this is Caroline’s Author page on Amazon.)