Yeah, right.Dakota was much too competitive to take the easy route. He liked the challenge.
“If you go over, there’s deep sand all around, so everyone’s legs are safe. There are a couple other spots where it will be easiest to pick Tank up to run the obstacle. There’s a log over a mud bog, and they have another cameraperson posted there.” Reaper grinned. “Choice is yours, run across with your K9 in your arms like a superhero, or fall in and make a splash for thecamera. Either one should get the clicks and help the kiddos. And that’s what we want.”
“I’m starting to think that falling into mud is why you invited me along.” Dakota was only half kidding.
Reaper grinned and clapped him on the back as he took off toward a petite blonde woman with her hand in the air and a grin on her face.
“I’ll give it my best, buddy,” Dakota sank to a squat next to Tank. “But since I’ve never tried throwing you over my shoulder to climb an eight-foot wall before, there might be a learning curve, is all I’m saying.” He scritched Tank between his ears. “They do this for a living. We’ll figure it out together. We have each other’s backs.” Dakota stood. “Be patient with me, okay? All those cameras. This is gonna be hella humbling.”
“Gentlemen,” Reaper called out, “gather ’round.”
Dakota snatched up the duffel, and he and Tank jogged over to join the group at the back of the transport, where they stood on the edge of the pack of Cerberus shepherds.
There, Dakota spotted two labs, a blond and a black. And, unexpectedly, a mastiff named Beowolf with his handler, Nutsbe, wearing a Panther Force Tactical logo on his shirt, was running with bilateral prostheses.
Reaper raised his hands. “Thank you to all of those who came out on your day off. We’re here with the best of intentions—helping kids in need. Today, we’re going to be in the public eye.” He pointed to a poster duct-taped to the side of the vehicle. “We want to do our best by our youngest and most vulnerable, but we still need to maintain our anonymity. You probably already found face paint in the duffels.” He turned and tapped the poster. “These are the stripe patterns, positions, and color combinations that will thwart AI in recognizing your face and successfully putting you into someone’s database. The dogs were entered by their race numbers. We’re going to tryto command them with hand signals and voice, but try not to use their names around cameras, for all the obvious security reasons.”
The men nodded.
When Dakota was in the sandbox and out with K9 teams, they never used their dogs' names in public, lest someone overhear, call the dog to them, and hold a military war dog hostage. At $100,000 to get the canines operational, it would be a big financial hit. But it would be an even bigger emotional hit for the units. And should the dog be used against an allied team, well, that would just all kinds of suck.
Better to never use the dogs’ names.
“All of your names were placed on the roster as your call signs. No last names.” Reaper looked over at Dakota. “We haven’t put you in yet. We didn’t know what you went by.”
“Raisin,” Dakota said.
The Cerberus men turned Dakota’s way with laughter in their eyes.
“Raisin,” Reaper repeated. “Okay then.” He tipped his head toward the transport. “Bottle of water in the back of the vehicle if you’re feeling parched and need to plump yourself back up.”
Laughter rippled amongst the men.
That was fine. Dakota was used to it. The guy with the mastiff was named Nutsbe because his last name was Crushed. Dakota would pick his moniker “Raisin Kayne” over “Nutsbe Crushed” any day.
“Alright, Raisin, and the rest of you. Pick a camouflage configuration from the poster. Have the guy next to you apply your war paint. Be efficient with time, put your bags back here.” He pointed toward the back of the vehicle. “And then, head to the starting line. We’re going to give the crowd a good show. Lots of publicity equals lots of donations. Let’s give them exciting footage and make this day a win for the kids.”
Hawkeye turned to him, sticks of face paint in Iniquus' gunmetal gray and royal blue in his hand. “Do you care which design?”
“Whichever you want.” As Hawkeye smeared a line down the side of Dakota’s nose, he thought that he should get a picture of the different patterns. He’d learned face paint for combat, but he’d done that training before AI technology made identification a touch of a computer button.
Hawkeye handed the paint sticks to Dakota so Dakota could return the favor. They flung their bags into the back, and Hawkeye looked over Dakota’s harness configuration. “You’re strapped in right. Your first time doing a cani-cross mud run?”
“First. I’m gathering advice.”
“Move your feet as fast as you can.” Hawkeye slapped him on the back, and like a school of fish, they made their way to the starting line.
Dakota moved Tank to the outside of the group, where they might have a little extra maneuvering room, giving Dakota time to figure out how all this worked.
Tank turned his head and eyed him as if to say, “Oh, we’re going for it.”
A whistle blew, and a voice boomed through the bullhorn. “Heat One. Cerberus Tactical, take your places.” The Malinois gathered along the start line, barking their agitation at being held back.
“We’re going in THREE. TWO. ONE!”
The gun cracked the air. The crowd’s cheers swelled around them.
And the Malinois were off!
