CANID
It was a bitter, black night. The wind swirled with certainty of an oncoming storm, and the sky, where it was lit briefly by the odd crackle of lightning, and, far more often, explosions, was gunmetal grey. Helicopters, a vast fleet of them, stretched out across the battered sky. Far ahead, some fell, looking ironically like falling stars as they plummeted in flame.
Corporal Colin Renard, a Cross Fox in his mid-twenties, saw all this from the open door of his helo. He saw, but wasn't watching, per se. To focus on the mission was to detach from the rest of it. As 'Noose' (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CB3Gv4oZdWo&feature=feedf) poured in through his earbuds, he lifted his paw to his temple, clicking the button that changed displays on his Tac/Com.
"Name: Annabelle Renard. Species: Cat (Calico) Age: 19
Subject was-"
Colin growled bitterly, thumping the side of the chopper as it cut through the air. He was being foolish in dropping his professional, analytical guard, he knew, but seeing her, her picture, and her referred to blandly, sanitarily as 'the Subject' gnawed at him. He shut off the computer, watching the havoc spill out in Virginia below. He knew the brief by heart, anyway. How could he not? She was his wife. And while he was away, doing his duty, protests back home became demonstrations, became riots, and became outright rebellion. National Guard armories were looted, and a stone's throw from Washington, D.C, Annabelle's home town had come under siege. Many not willing to turn against the government were taken hostage, Annabelle included. Understanding of his situation, and mindful of his meritorious service, Colin was given preference and accepted into the Combat-Autonomous Non-disclosed Intelligence Division (CANID) and pushed straight to the fore. He had the training, he knew the waypoints, and he had the maps, the equipment, and briefing. But he'd already streamlined, simplified, and detached himself from all the complications. It was simple.
Objective A-1: Get Annabelle back.
The helicopter made a lurching turn as it descended, one that would have made less experienced soldiers scrabble for something to hold on to. But these were some of the best, 'quiet professionals' the Army had to offer. Colin looked around the cabin at his squad, Dobermans and German Shepherds- dogs born with a sense of military tradition, and to be honest, a thirst for blood. The squad leader, though, was a whole different animal (no pun intended). A wolf, steel gray and with one eye scarred shut. Colin felt a kinship to him, though he would never admit it. As not 'proper dogs', the two wilder breeds suffered a lot of scrutiny, at least until they proved themselves. But whereas Colin was brave, quiet, analytical, stealthy and efficient, and that was what pushed him up the ranks and positions, Adelai, the wolf, had grabbed the top by the throat and pulled it down. Some said he was Russian Special Forces before the war, as evidenced by the dented, worn, and cruelly sharp spade he wore tucked into the top of his pack. He gave a nod to Colin, who pretended not to notice it busying himself with the slide on his pistol.
"Touching down on the roof," came the static-laden call over the headsets. "In three, two-" Without waiting for one, the squad rolled out of the open sides of the helicopter, pouring seamlessly and quietly onto the roof. They began tying ropes down, checking equipment and updating their intel. Though it was a short time in doing, by the time Colin looked up, the chopper was a smudge on the horizon.
Three on one side, three on the other, the squad balanced on the edge of the roof, and at Captain Adelai's nod, swung down with practiced ease. They burst through the windows with choreographed timing. Colin rolled into a ball, right past the two shocked sentries stationed on that floor and posted up against the door, ready to intercept anyone who came to investigate. He didn't bother looking back at the two rebels. The wet smack of Adelai's shovel edge silenced one, and distinctly Shepherd growls coupled with the rustle of cloth, and then a distant thud spoke of what befell the other as he hit the sidewalk below.
Colin tensed, ready to spring out in an instant, but to his mild surprise, all that came of their noisy entry was some drunken yelling.
"Hey, knock it off up there! The bitch nearly bit me when you startled her!"
Eyes darted to each other, each soldier silently assessing the situation. Colin held up a slim claw. One sec. Kneeling to the floor, he put an eye to a hole in the hardwood. What he saw below angered him, and he bit his lip to keep from growling. Duct-taped to the floor, a jackal girl was being made to serve. A rebel with his rifle slung over his shoulder was forcing his cat-hood into her mouth, holding her head down cruelly. "Suck it, you derka-derka immigrant slut!"
Colin fought not to roll his eyes, even in this weird, sordid situation. Rednecks. The cat pumped her face mercilessly, but Colin could do nothing about it. Not yet. Soon, with a yeowling cry, the bastard tugged her tongue out and came all over it. Demanding that she swallow, he pushed her head down and away, as if she were worthless. "Now then, how old's your sister? She's got a great ass..." He heard a sob from the jackal as he pulled away from the hole in the floor. Luckily, as the cat kept up his teasing, Colin could keep track of where he was. "Tch, tch, tch, come here little puppy, wanna sit on my la-"
He'd heard enough. Putting the silenced barrel of his pistol to the floor where the cat's voice was, he pulled the trigger, once and only once. Psst. Thud. The rest of the squad thundered down the stairs amid the shouts of surprise and screams of horror. By the time Colin got there, the two jackal sisters were unbounded and covered , shivering under his squadmates' jackets. The soldiers in question had the dead cat's partner pinned against the wall, knives at his throat. Colin could tell they didn't need knives to tear the raccoon's throat out. However, they seized the roll of tape and secured him, tossing him in a corner.
"That's four down," A Doberman murmured, updating the information on their Tac/Coms. " Another six to go. The good news is, the next floor is the ground floor. They'll likely not have any hostages there. Weapons free?" He cocked his head toward Adelai, and Colin grinned inwardly at the soldier's seeming inability to think for himself. Still, they were soldiers. The timberwolf nodded, and as soon as he did, the dogs of the squad went to work, obviously having little patience for the sneaking precision that came naturally to their leader and to Colin. They kicked the door in, threw stun grenades, and though Colin knew to close his eyes, it still rattled him somewhat. Even so, he charged into the blinding light, made brighter by automatic weapons fire. As his eyes had closed, he adjusted quicker than the rebel soldiers that remained. His pistol hissed out twice, utterly lost in the roar of the more conventional weapons. Civilians would never believe how fast the CANID squad did their work. However, charging into a room full of armed fanatics is never fool-proof, and a dog soldier lay among the fallen. Grimly, they set him aside from the rebels, who they piled ingloriously. One, two, three, four, five... One, two, three, four... five. Where was Annabelle? And the last-
Colin cut off that thought, remembering the floor above. Switching to his map, he found the building had a basement. He was at its door before he realized it, before his squad had re-grouped, before he had asked permission. Dropping his magazine and ramming a new one into his weapon, he flung open the door and more or less jumped down the stairs. Even in mid-air, time slowed for him.
There she was, Annabelle, the dark-haired, almond-eyed love of his life. She was bare, and shivering. Between her and Colin was a male, red fox. Her eyes widened in shock, even as the rebel spoke.
" Just stay quiet, shhh, I brought you a fresh blanket. We have to stay ou- grrhh!"
Colin grabbed the fox and turned him, his knife blade to his throat. If time slowed before, it stopped now, as he turned the fox around and out of the way. In Annabelle's arms was the strangest, most beautiful thing Colin had ever seen, and even now, tears sprang to his eyes. She held an obviously newborn fox, born with the light cross pattern and eyes of his father, but the little guy's fur was calico, like his mother. The red fox squirmed and scrabbled, clearly not ready or meant for this.
As he held onto the panicking fox, shocked to a standstill by what he saw, Colin heard a sound from the door. Adelai was there, his rifle raised, ready to bring Colin's struggling prisoner down. Before he thought about it- indeed, if he ever DID think about it, he'd admit that he lost his mind for a moment; Colin whipped the knife at Adelai. The rifle hit the floor and the knife pinned the wall, leaving Adelai with a bleeding paw. He growled ferally at Colin, who shoved the fox away, staring at the wolf.
The red fox hit his knees, his hands on the back of his head, like he'd seen in the movies. "Please, don't kill me!" he blurted out. "My name is Konig- she was pregnant, I was helping I DON'T WANNA DIE!"
The little babe began to cry from all the noise, breaking the spell. Turning his back to everyone involved but Anna and their child, Colin put his hand on his son's forehead, and the baby fell silent, instantly. Annabelle smiled. "You're late, Daddy, but that was a hell of an entrance."
Colin leaned in to kiss his wife as, for the first time since mission briefing, Adelai spoke, an irritated growl. "You know we are not done here," he said, a thick Ukrainian accent. Colin heard, and he knew that they still had the whole neighborhood to go, but in that moment, he had already won his war.