He stood on the rocky shore, underneath the moonlit sky, looking out across the vast expanse of water that was, old Lake Ontario. Behind him, a city turned war-machine, readying to unleash all the power and energy it had been gathering over the past three months, for this very moment.

Ronto, as it was called, was preparing once more for war. It’s enemy? No longer the historical enemies of wandering tribes, and factions it had fought from infancy. Now it was whoever stood in it’s way of expanding south, across the Ontario, and into what had once been the United States of America.

Captain Dreaux kept his bright blue eyes focused on the horizon, although it almost looked to meld into one with the sky above it. His short cropped brown hair was free to blow in the breeze, while the red Captain’s coat he wore, covered his tanned chest and shoulders. He was a powerful man, and a powerful leader.

His small claim to fame, which his men had bestowed upon on him themselves, was when he led them up river to the ruins of Montreal, by canoe at night, and wrapping through the city before coming around to the rear flank of Ottawa, surprising the soldiers of the Ottawa Confederacy, at the small town of Thurso, and allowing the larger force of Ronto behind them, to sweep up the river and through to Ottawa. The garrison at Thurso had been taken by complete surprise, as well as lightly equipped. And because of it, Captain Dreaux and his men turned what is hardly remembered as, the Clash at Thurso, into a massacre. The Ottawa soldiers screamed and cried, pleaded for life, before they were snuffed out by the blades and lasers of Captain Dreaux.

Of course, the spotlight had gone to Lieutenant-Colonel Sampson, the man who’d led the large Ronto force into Ottawa, on the Ottawa River. The well remembered, and famous Battle of Ottawa, was hardly a battle at all. For two months, it had been a siege, and a poorly maintained siege, on the part of Ronto. Supplies were still getting into Ottawa, even if they were small, which allowed the tired and starving defenders to maintain some semblance of order and chance at repelling any attacks made to end the siege by Ronto. The daring attack up river, had been thought too risky before, by the Ronto commanders, until it became the only chance at winning and ending the siege. But by then, the Ottawa defenders were all but ready to lay down their arms, and walk away, even if it meant defeat. The surprise attack from the river, was hardly repelled, with most Ottawa Confederate soldiers, surrendering at the sight of Ronto soldiers. But regardless the old war dog had eaten it up, as everyone expected the Lieutenant-Colonel too, as he was a man of ego and some vanity, but they were so filled with glee and cheer themselves, the people of Ronto didn’t even recognize it.

But Captain Dreaux didn’t mind so much, the spotlight being put on the Lieutenant-Colonel, the long and ceaseless war with the Ottawa Confederacy, had finally ended. So many lives had been lost, to both sides, that the Captain was just glad that he himself, had made it through the turmoil and unforgiving fighting that the war had devolved into so quickly.

It had been six years since the war ended though, and now, after three months of gathering strength, Ronto was once again preparing to unleash it’s Dogs of War, this time on the old USA.

An as the Captain stood on the shore, a sound like a voice, carried behind him. He turned to see a man coming towards him, running hard.

“Captain, Captain Dreaux!” The man said. Under the moon, the Captain could make out the familiar sight, seeing that it was Sergeant Latimer, his Sergeant Latimer.

“What is it, Sergeant?” Captain Dreaux asked, as the Sergeant stopped before him.

The short man, but still with a powerful build like the Captain, pulled out a note from his own red coat, handing it to the Captain to read. He remembered quickly to give a quick salute.

“For you, sir. I believe it’s orders from Sampson himself.”

“General Sampson,” Captain Dreaux corrected.

“Yes, sir, from the General.”

Captain Dreaux unfolded the letter, and read it quietly to himself. Indeed, it was orders, and from General Sampson himself. Orders that he, and the rest of those under his command, had been waiting months to read.

Captain Dreaux folded the letter and tucked it away in his coat, looking at Sergeant Latimer, who’s face created a smile and who’s eyes looked as happy as a child’s, on his birthday. But the look on Captain Dreaux’s face, wasn’t one of such childishness, his was the look of a man who’d been leashed for too long, and saw the letter and what it spelled, as his unleashing and freedom.

“Sound the rallying bell, Sergeant Latimer, get the Rangers up. Have them and yourself fully provisioned and equipped for the field, and assembled at Fort York in half an hour, no later. We’re being summoned by the good General himself, and it looks like it’s important.”

“Of course, Captain, they wouldn't call on us if it weren’t! I’ll get the others up, sir, right away!” And off he ran, giving a slack salute, before making full speed towards the nearby barracks the Rangers had been calling home for the past three months.

While the Sergeant went off, Captain Dreaux stood a moment longer on the rocky shore, glancing back out to the water that almost melded with the sky, and then turned back towards where the Sergeant had run off to, needing to gather his own equipment and provisions for the briefing ahead.