Miriam made a mad dash for the campsite, scrounging through a crate to grab a flare gun. The boat sailed idly in the distance. It was unclear if whoever was on it saw the fire on the beach, but a flare shot into the night sky would be visible for miles. Miriam finally found the gun and pointed it skyward, holding her other hand over her ear.

            "Wait! Don't do it!" Lanz shouted as he caught up. He stopped her just before she could pull the trigger.

            "What are you saying? This is our chance. This could be our only chance." There was a desperate look in Miriam's eye, a yearning to return home. Her finger trembled against the trigger.

            "Look at that ship. Take a good look at it." Miriam did as requested, staring out into the sea. The boat flew no colors. Its hull was black and sharp-angled. It was only the size of a cruiser, able to hold ten or so men. No, not men. Tinies.

            The ship wasn't as far away as initially thought; it was simply small enough to give the impression that it was many miles further out than it actually was. While the vessel likely had enough space to carry an additional tiny, there was no chance of it ever sailing a big to shore. Miriam lowered the flare gun, any hope of rescue dashed.

            "That's a Fidelphian stealth cruiser," Lanz explained. "A prototype. They're probably out here on a field test." He started walking away from the campsite. "It's probably too late, but we'll have to put the fire out. They'll kill you on sight. Our people don't have the luxury of taking prisoners." Holding Baltzimarans captive proved too costly for the tiny nation, the bigs taking up more space and requiring more resources than they were worth. In contrast, Baltzimar took in Fidelphi prisoners by the truckload. A regular sized prison could comfortably hold ten thousand tiny inmates, and they required a mere fraction of the food and water that bigs needed. Tiny POWs were used as cheap labor for the war effort, jobs such as operating assembly lines, cleaning equipment, and packaging a wide array of small goods. They also made for valuable bargaining chips on the negotiating table. 

            "Hold on," Miriam interjected. "Maybe we should signal them. I can hide, and you can tell them all of us bigs died in the crash, that you were the only survivor." Lanz stopped in his tracks and turned to her. "I'll still be stuck here, but at least you'd be able to leave."

            "No way. I'm not leaving here without you." Lanz circled back towards the fire.

            "But it's not fair for me to keep you here. This could be your only chance to go home."

            "Miriam, there's nothing waiting for me on the other side of the water." Lanz stopped again, realizing he had no way of putting out the fire at his size. "I have no family, no home, nothing to return to. The only thing I have in that country is the promise of more violence. Either I leave this island with you, or I stay here until I die." Miriam walked over to him and crouched down, brushing his cheek with her finger.

            "If you’re sure," she said with a warm smirk. "Let's get this fire out. We can figure the rest out-"

            Boom!

            Miriam was interrupted by a sudden explosion. The tiny boat erupted in flames, sending shockwaves across the water. A pair of geysers shot up alongside the exploding ship. The hull cracked in half, unleashing an inferno across the deck and cabin. The couple stood stunned on the beach, an orange glow reflecting off of them.

            A cold steel monolith, the massive battleship's tower peeked over from beyond the horizon as the vessel approached its quarry. It was a considerable ship, large enough to hold an army and making the Fidelphian craft beneath it look like a bath toy. It hoisted the Baltzimaran flag, clearly visible underneath the moonlight. Painted on the side in bold, white letters was: "S.S. MILLWALKER". 

            Miriam pointed the flare skyward, looking down to Lanz before firing it. He gave her a solemn nod, and the flare soared through the air, leaving a brilliant orange trail against the deep blue hue of midnight. 

            "Sorry about your comrades," Miriam said.

            "Me too." The flames from the stealth craft reflected off Lanz's hollow eyes. After a couple minutes, a return flare shot out from the battleship’s deck: message received.

            "Go grab your knife. I'll clean up any evidence that you survived."

            "Are you going to be okay?" Lanz asked. "Your orders were to take me in alive."

            "These were extraordinary circumstances. They'll understand." The battleship halted, preparing a dinghy to sail ashore. "Let's hurry."

…

            "All set?" Miriam asked. Lanz walked out of the plane in his white uniform coat. It was still mostly clean, having not been worn since the day they crashed. His combat knife sat straddled to his back and his revolver remained holstered by the waist. "The safest place to stow you is going to be on my person. My tank top’s too thin, they'll spot you immediately, so your options are either in one of my boots or in my panties."

            "Panties," he decided with zero hesitation. Miriam rolled her eyes.

            "Right. Don't know why I bothered giving you a choice." She unbuckled her belt and picked her partner up, holding him over her butt as she tugged at the waistband.

            "Wait, you're putting me back here!?"

            "You expect me to focus with you squirming around up front? It's either my butt or the boot, your choice." Lanz peered down at the chasm waiting below. Though not his first choice, the perky mounds grew more welcoming the longer he gawked at them.

            "Fine," he conceded. Miriam dropped him into her panties and released the elastic, wedging Lanz into her crack. She fastened her belt and adjusted her pants so that Lanz was snug and invisible from the outside. Between her thick, tight glutes, the tiny man couldn't move much beyond his hands. He brushed his right hand against Miriam's puckered rim and, out of innocent curiosity, poked his fingers through the hole, causing the woman's entire body to grow tense.   "Don't do that!" She snarled, resisting the carnal urge to shove his whole body up her ass. Part of her regretted not tossing him into her boot, though she suspected he’d be just as distracting down there. "Stay still if you want to live. Once we’re safe, then we’ll indulge all we want."

            Miriam stoically watched two soldiers drive a motorboat to the shore. They were adorned in fatigues and armed with assault rifles, handguns, and knives. The two leapt off the boat and marched up to the woman waiting for them.

            “Corporal Silvers? So, you actually survived.” One soldier greeted her with a snarky grin, the other scanned her and the surroundings as if looking for something. “How about the rest of your squad?”

            “All dead,” Miriam replied. She tried not to pay the other soldier any mind. Lanz could feel her sweat pouring onto him, but he remained perfectly still.

            “And the special cargo you were carrying?” the inquisitive soldier asked.

            “Special…” He must mean Lanz. “There’s a pit a little ways behind that boulder I was using as a toilet. If you dig deep enough, you might find a couple of his bones left.” The two soldiers glanced at each other and shrugged.

            “We’ll take your word for it. You can stay in the boat. We’ll go through the wreckage and recover whatever’s salvageable.” Miriam did as she was told and waited in the boat as the soldiers scrounged through the campsite, retrieving weapons and the like. With the woman sitting on the boat’s wooden bench, Lanz was smushed up against the inside of her crack. She tried repositioning herself to make him more comfortable, but the gesture just mashed him further into her skin.

            “Sorry,” she whispered. “I probably shoulda put you in my boot.”

            “No,” Lanz grunted, “this is fine.” The soldiers returned and loaded the boat before shoving off. The boat rocked as it took off into the water, sending its passengers bounding up and down and further hammering the tiny stuck in Miriam’s pants. Absolutely fine.

…

            Upon boarding the S.S. Millwalker, Miriam was escorted to the bridge where the captain and a few other officers were stationed. The captain was in his early forties, his brown hair neatly trimmed and his burly frame packed tightly in his naval uniform. He stood half a foot taller than Miriam, though he was currently sitting. Despite having just annihilated an enemy vessel, the man look overly relaxed, one leg resting casually over the other knee as he leaned back in his chair. Upon Miriam’s entrance, he stood up and sauntered over to her.

            “And so, the prodigal daughter returns,” the captain goaded, slow clapping as he approached. Miriam stood firm and saluted her superior officer. “General Silvers has been worried sick. I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic to learn you’re alive.” The captain eyed her up and down, appreciating every curve and sinew bleeding through her thin, sweat-soaked tank top. Miriam’s eyes were trained forward, her hand locked in salute. “I can see why.” The captain circled around her, savoring the eye candy. His hand reached out and glided over her ass cheek before giving it a firm squeeze. Miriam flinched, but she retained her pose. “All that time alone,” the captain whispered into her ear as he fondled her rump, “you must be weary. Why don’t you rest up in my quarters?”

            The other soldiers in the bridge looked the other way, all too familiar with the captain’s habit for greeting female officers. Lanz could feel the walls of flesh cave to the giant hand’s immense influence, forcing him to nudge as deep into Miriam as possible, lest he fall out of his nook. The captain’s hand inched ever closer to the tiny’s hiding spot as it squeezed, hoping to finger Miriam’s sensitive spots. Lanz cocked his gun’s hammer, his finger held taught against the trigger; it took every ounce of his willpower not to unload all his ammo into the giant man.

            “Sorry, sir, but I’m tired, and I’d prefer to sleep in my own bed. Alone,” Miriam said, trying to ignore the man’s uncomfortable grip.

            “Now, now. Don’t be like that, corporal.” His tone stung the ears like bleach on an open wound. “It would be rude of the captain to leave a guest unattended. Even ruder if I had to order you to comply.”

            Miriam felt the captain’s grip loosen as he approached her crack, knowing full well where his sights lied. She had to act fast; she couldn’t let him discover Lanz, and, most of all, she was sick of this pervert having his way with her ass. In one smooth motion, Miriam turned around, broke from her salute, grabbed the captain’s first two fingers, and bent them straight backwards. A loud crack echoed through the bridge.

            “Augh!” The captain recoiled and screamed, clutching his broken fingers. “In- insubordinate!” Miriam brought her forearm beneath his chin and pinned his neck to the wall, nearly shattering his windpipe.

            “Listen up, ‘sir,’ and listen good,” Miriam scowled. The other officers stared at her wide eyed, too shocked to properly react. The armed soldiers raised their guns, but they wouldn't shoot one of their own without a command from their superiors. “You know who I am?”

            “This is… This is treason!” the captain choked. Miriam flexed her arm and pinned harder.

            “Say my name! I won’t repeat myself again.”

            “Corp. Miriam Silvers.” The captain grabbed her elbow with his working hand to pry her off, but she didn’t budge.

            “Good. Now, say my father’s name.” A hint of fear twinkled in his eyes.

            “General Irvine Silvers,” he said shakily.

            “Very good.” A hellish smile drew across her face. “Now, how do you think our nation’s highest-ranking officer is going to react when he learns you pulled rank to grope his daughter’s ass?” The captain didn’t respond. His eyes darted around the room to his subordinates, but they were all too scared of the feral Miss Silvers to do anything about her. The officers in the room all either knew Irvine personally or were intimately familiar with the stories surrounding the living legend, and no one wanted to be responsible for putting down his daughter. “You know what happened the last time an officer crossed him? Poor guy was transferred to the frontlines, equipped with nothing but a peashooter and his boxer shorts. Oh, you’d be lucky to get off so easy.”

            “I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” the captain pleaded, tears welling in his eyes.

            “I just spent three months by myself trapped on a deserted fucking island. The last thing I want is some scum-sucking douche nozzle feeling me up, thinking he has the right to sleep with me because no one else has the balls to put the worm in his place. Now, I’m going to find an actual, goddamn bed to sleep in while you steer this ship home. Do I make myself clear?” The captain whimpered something unintelligible, his face turning purple. Miriam let him go and made for the door.

            “You, show me to my quarters.” She pointed to one of the soldiers who had escorted her. The man looked at her and back to the captain. The captain, hunched over and gasping for air, waved his hand at him, signaling to oblige whatever she demanded. He nodded and exited the bridge, leading Miriam to a private quarter for special guests.

…

            The room was cramped and inelegant, hosting a bed, toilet, sink, and mirror. It looked more like a prison cell than special lodgings, but for the woman who had spent three months sleeping in a wrecked cargo plane, it may as well have been a luxury suite. Miriam closed the heavy, steel door behind her and made for the bed, pulling her companion out from his hidey hole before sitting down. 

            "Wait here for me. I'm going to go slit that fucker's throat," Lanz said from within Miriam's grip.

            "As much as I'd love that, we can't bring that sort of attention to ourselves." Miriam lied down on the bed, amazed by how soft the stiff mattress was. She set Lanz down beside her, happy to see him laying next to her. “Just stay here and keep me company until we’re home.” They stared into each other's eyes for a while, reveling in the tender silence, knowing it could never last long enough.

…

            Sixteen hours later, the S.S. Millwalker landed in Baltzimar, docking in the bustling port city of Debutrois as ordered over radio by General Silvers. It was overcast that late afternoon, the grey skies providing a blank backdrop for the city’s red brick buildings. The metropolitan covered over a hundred blocks with modest skyscrapers gathered further inland; the city led into a hilly region covered in emerald green grass and lush pines. 

            Once the ship was ready to disembark, Miriam stepped down the offramp onto the naval base's cement dock where a tall man in a sharp, highly decorated, black uniform stood in wait.

            "Dad!" Miriam shouted, running towards her father and tackling him in a hug. 

            "Miriam! I'm so glad you're safe." Irvine was nothing if not imposing, standing at 6'7" with a hulking frame that nearly put his daughter’s musculature to shame. His crew cut was a healthy mix of grey and white, and his thick eyebrows demanded respect from any subordinate they faced. But his traditionally stern expression was absent as he embraced his long-lost daughter. "Are you alright? Have you been eating? We can stop somewhere if-"

            "Dad, I'm fine." She struggled to push the clingy man off her. "Thanks, but all I need right now is a hot shower." While the other crewmen disembarked, the ship's captain scurried over to salute the general.

            “It’s good to see you, sir!” he shouted, bandaged hand held taut before his temple. “Your daughter was exemplary aboard the Millwalker, sir!”

            “Of course she was,” The stern expression returned in full force. “Stop wasting your breath on crap I already know and hand me your report, soldier.” The captain gave Irvine a manilla folder holding neatly printed documents. “At ease. Be on your way now.” The captain shot Miriam a pleading look to which she promptly ignored, turning away to head toward the naval base’s parking lot. Her father led her to a shiny black Cadillac with tinted, bulletproof windows. As she opened the passenger door, Miriam glanced around the parking lot, overcome with the icy sensation of being watched.

            “Everything alright?” her father asked. Miriam looked around, but couldn't find anything out of the ordinary.

            “Sorry. Being in the wild for so long still has me on edge, I guess.” She got into the car and closed the door, unaware of the tiny eyes trained on her since the moment she stepped on dry land.

            Irvine revved up the engine, sending vibrations throughout the vehicle. The Cadillac's leather seats were a far cry comfier than the dinghy's wooden bench, but it was hard for Lanz to appreciate that smashed beneath the weight of his lover. Miriam again tried to reposition herself, though she had to be subtle about squirming with her father sitting next to her.

            “Your mother is out in Cleftland, visiting your aunt,” Irvine said as he pulled out into the street. “She's flying over here now. Should be back sometime this evening.” They drove through the city, passing by restaurants, businesses, and pedestrians. Aside from recruitment posters, there were no visible signs these people had been living through fifteen years of war. Miriam watched the passersby aimlessly through the window. It was surreal seeing people her own size living comfortable lives with no need to hunt for food, like watching a film dubbed in a language she only vaguely remembered how to speak.

            Irvine navigated through the city blocks, heading towards the hills in the distance. Delano’s Way ran through the outskirts of Debutrois, a secluded road dotted by illustrious mansions where many of Baltzimar’s elite called home, including the Silvers.

            The vibrations rising through the car seat reverberated in Miriam’s cheeks. Lanz found it difficult to concentrate while getting a full-body massage beneath his lover. The all-encompassing embrace combined with the drive’s steady resonance elicited from Lanz an invigorating buzz. Is that his knife prodding me or… Miriam thought. She kept staring out the window, trying to focus on reality, reminding herself that Lanz could not be discovered by anyone at any cost, but fantasies erupted in her mind, visions of a tiny soldier scratching the itch he was giving her.

            “Dad, can you stop somewhere? I have to use the restroom.” Miriam felt a small hand tapping on her butt. Lanz was losing himself to similar fantasies, and though remaining in the trance would be nice, he needed Miriam to get out of the car and touch base with him.

            “Of course.” Irvine pulled into a parking spot on the side of the road in front of a bar. “Take all the time you need. I’ll stay here and keep the car warm.”

            Miriam got out of the Cadillac and walked into the bar, resisting every urge to rub the tiny man into her ass. The bar only had a few patrons at the moment, none of which seemed to mind the woman skipping to the corner of the building were the restroom resided. It was no larger than a broom closet, the sink sitting a foot apart from the toilet. Penciled graffiti covered the tiled wall. There was a small window just below the ceiling leading to the bar’s backlot. Miriam locked the door, lowered the toilet lid, freed Lanz from her pants, and sat down.

            “What’s the plan?” Miriam asked, holding Lanz by the waist. “I can hide you in my room once we get home, but what do we do from there?”

            “No. I think it’s best we split up here.” Panic drew across Miriam’s face as she deciphered his intent. “Just as a temporary measure,” he reassured her. “I can’t stay in this country, so I’ll go and find a way out for both of us.”

            “Will you be okay all by yourself?”

            “No doubt.” He flashed her a thumbs up. “Don’t tell anyone, but we have spy networks in every major Baltzimaran city. I’ll find one of our caches to lay low in. From there, I’ll determine the best course of escape. We have smuggling routes set up for getting bigs out of the country, whether that’s kidnapping special individuals or escorting deserters. There’s got to be a way to get to one of the neutral countries up north. We can be together there. No hiding. No running. We’ll be free to live a real life together.”

            “Alright, I believe in you. How should we stay in touch?”

            “Let’s meet back here tomorrow at 14:00 hours. We’ll proceed from there.”

            “Sounds good.” Miriam pulled Lanz in and kissed him. The two locked lips for a full minute before finally letting go. “Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

            “You killed me, remember? With no one looking for me, this’ll be my easiest assignment yet.” Miriam raised Lanz to the windowsill, nodding goodbye as he disappeared under the open hatch.

            Lanz surveyed the backlot, sidling against the corner of a dumpster. There were two massive cars parked and a pack of rats nibbling on a discarded pizza slice, but no signs of the enemy. Lanz darted to a sewer grate at the edge of the lot, scanning his surroundings before delving in. He hopped down the rungs of a ladder built into the concrete wall and landed on a walkway just wide enough for a giant maintenance worker to use.

            It was dark, dank, and lonely; the steady dribble of streaming water and the pitter patter of urban rodents were the tiny’s only noticeable company. Lanz made his way through the concrete labyrinth, zigging and zagging through the winding sewer path. He had no destination in mind as he trailed the dark corridors, simply seeking seclusion from the bigs above. Once he was satisfied, Lanz stopped in his tracks.

            “Coast’s clear. You can come out now.” At Lanz’s behest, a man in a beige trench coat stepped out from the shadows behind him. Slicked back hair and a pencil thin moustache adorned the five-inch-tall creeper.

            “So, you finally decided to arrive, Gecko,” the shady man sneered.

            “Kept you waiting, huh?” Lanz turned to face the other tiny. His eyes went hollow upon seeing the man’s murine face. “Special Agent, Pierre Pillon, 33, Handler.”

            “Three months! I was starting to think you had died.”

            “Come on, you should have more faith in me,” Lanz shrugged. His jovial expression betrayed his blank stare.

            “Your absence has put the mission in jeopardy. If we don’t act soon, the enemy will be all set to win this war.” Pierre grabbed a cigarette from his pocket, but stopped himself, remembering he shouldn’t light a fire in a sewer.

            “Please, the mission’s progressing smoothly. I’ve got everything handled.” Lanz pulled out his revolver and casually spun it.

            “How do you figure?”

            “Because I have an in with the General’s daughter. She trusts me completely.”