Operation: Liberation (Under Heavy Revision)

Aftermath of East Ridge

"Clear!" I yelled out, walking out of a large room that had its furniture overturned.

I walked down the stairs and into a living room, the faint yells of "Clear!" coming from the surrounding buildings as I reloaded my M4A1 carbine. The past hour was hectic, but the unit as a whole made it out without any KIA, though there were quite a lot of WIAs.

I spotted Sergeant Nighthawk at the front door, speaking to Colonel Snowpaw, who was the commander of the 3rd Marines. They were most likely speaking about the outcome of the short skrimish from what I am assuming. "Colonel?" I interrupted them politely as I walked up to them, slinging my carbine on my back.

They both stopped speaking and looked at me, and I showed them the set of dogtags and the wallet I pulled off the dead anthro at the beginning of the skrimish. "Who's this?" the colonel asked, taking the dogtags out of my paw.

"I'm not really sure, Sir," I replied to the old fox as he look at the bloodied dogtags, "I didn't get a chance to find out. She wore a police officer uniform, kind of close to SWAT-like gear."

"ID?" Sergeant Nighthawk inquired, looking interested. I gave the male wolf the dirtied wallet I had in my paw.

Around us, military personnel in digital woodland and digital desert fatigues walked around. Some were chatting among themselves, others were sitting down to catch their breath. All of us looked beaten and dirty. The smell of death and gunpowder was strong, but I was getting used to the gorey smells of war. Outside, tanks and hummvees were driving past the house, most likely regrouping in a designated area established by the scouts. At the moment, it was raining hard.

"I know this female..." Sergeant Nighthawk solemnly spoke, more likely to himself, "she is part of the lost squad that went dark when the invasion started..."

Lost squad? "Our lost squad?" Colonel Snowpaw sounded confused with a dumbfounded expression on his face, "I don't remember anyone from my unit being here unless they are reserve marines."

"Err, no," the sergeant hesitantly responded, "my squad and I are special forces."

"MARSOC?" Colonel Snowpaw looked even more confused.

"With all due respect, Sir," the younger male wolf looked the older fox in the eye, "that information in classified. My squad and I are under the President's orders to assist in retaking America and ultimately getting to the White House to save her and the government."

So the squad I've been reassigned to is really a special forces squad?

The southern accented fox shook his head, "Sergeant, take your team and get the hell out of here. I need to evaluate my troop and get a headcount." The male anthro then walked off into the rain, immediately yelling someone's name and demanding a LACE report. Sergeant Nighthawk, on the other paw, led me out the backdoor of the house, where a tan humvee was waiting in the rain. Inside of it was Airthro First Class Whirlwind and Petty Officer 3rd Class Bluefrost, the latter being at the wheel while the other sat in the passenger seat, working the large, WWII era radio.

"Good! You both are back," the Californian born panther greeted us, opening the driver's side door, "Helena's trying to find a distress signal she received on the radio a few minutes ago." Bluefrost's uniform was completely covered in mud from the front, suggesting that she probably either fell front first or pushing a humvee that got stuck in a large puddle of water.

As if on cue, the radio that Whirlwind was working on came to life, "all units on this frequency! All units on this frequency!" a female voice yelled over the radio while having a little static, "this is Commander Dani Firebird of DEVGRU! We are pinned down and we need medical assistance! We need support! The coordinates are..." then the radio suddenly went straight to static. From the sounds in the background, they were being attacked by small arms fire and RPGs.

"Shit! Warwing, get in!" Sergeant Nighthawk ran around to the other side of the muddy humvee, "we have to roll now!" I hopped into the vehicle, sitting behind Bluefrost.

Soon, we were speeding off. "Helena, give me the talkie and keep trying to patch me through to the Commander," the male wolf demanded. As they tried to reach the SEAL team that was pinned down, I quickly starting thinking to myself. How in the world did I get into a special forces squad?

As a veteran of both the Flordia and Georgia campaign, I felt confident that the allied forces are winning. From the west, a combination of South Korean, Japanese, Australian, and American marines established a secure beachhead and steamrolled the Russian Army, reaching the midwest and linking up with the Mexican military at the Mississippi River. The Canadians pushed down from the north after helping retake Alaska, pushing the "elite" winter-fighting invaders down.

Washington DC was holding up pretty well from the last time I heard, but they won't last long if we don't get there in time. The Russians that are falling back are regrouping near the White House, trying to take it before we do. We can't let them take the White House but for now, we had to rescue the DEVGRU team that is suffering heavy losses.