A/N: To Walk the Fine Line is currently on hiatus due to an overabundance of writer's block. I hope that I will be able to continue it in the near future, but in the mean time here's a new story. Thank you to Maxmar and Karteufel for helping me edit the German and flow issues in this first chapter.

The sun set on the horizon casting an orange-yellow glow over the airbase, the German flag with its characteristic swastika drifted proudly over the control tower and several other buildings inside the complex. Flak and other anti-air emplacements were pointed to the sky waiting for the inevitable. Their crew's eyes trained to the sky, searching for the glint of metal shinning in a vast and open abyss. Several heavy fighters were out on the tarmac with their flight crews doing final preparations for night operations against the massive onslaught of British bombers in what had become standard procedure over the past year. The larger predators were taking belts of ammunition and loading them into the guns housed in the nose of the aircraft, whilst smaller mammals were inspecting inside the cowlings of the engines for any parts damaged by raids from the night before. Repairs were evident on this plane due to the mismatched paint spots on the side where ground crews repaired several bullet holes in the fuselage. Tension filled the air as most had come to believe that the base was the next target for the British Bomber Command.

Through his window in the barracks, an emerald eye peered through a scope at each of the ground crews faces. Most of them were scared shitless and he could see it on their faces.

Young…and stupid, the fox thought.

He set the scope back down on the table, his Kar98 rifle in pieces before him cleaned, oiled, and ready to reassemble. He put the rifle back together piece by piece and before long, he had rebuilt his killing machine. He placed the scope back on its rail and threaded the locking screws in place before shouldering his rifle and placing his cheek on the buttstock, looking through his scope. Just then, the door to his quarters flew open revealing a saluting otter brandishing a small, folded strip of paper.

"Unteroffizier! Message for you!" he exclaimed before bringing his paw down and running into the room to deliver the message. He held it out at the unfazed fox still gazing through his scope. An uneasy feeling filled the otter's body as he saw that the fox was half naked; multiple scars on his left side along with several others that ran from the base of his ear down to the chin. Tightness built in his chest, let it be from sheer horror or fear. The fox brought the rifle down from his shoulder after a few long moments. He placed it on the table and took the message from the otter. He couldn't have been more than eighteen years old and he could smell the fear radiating from the otters scent.

"Danke schön, Soldat. And if you ever barge into this room like that again…" he said as he stood up and loomed over the smaller mammal with his claws out and teeth baring. "…your head will end up splattered on that wall and your intestines will be turned into bratwurst…got it?"

The otter squeaked out a 'yes sir' before running out the room terrified. He smirked and sat down on the bed across from the table unfolding the message labeled for him. It read as follows:

Unteroffizier Nicholas Wilde

Mission critical:
Squad transferred to Falaise for further orders.
See Oberst Wolfgang Eisenhart for transfer details.

Why am I needed in Falaise. There's nothing there besides a couple of Säugetiergrenadier divisions. This'd better be good. At least I'll be able to see an old friend.

He stood up from his bed and grabbed his uniform top and patrol cap from the bedpost and put them on as he left his bunk, his hands working swiftly to button up the coat in order to make himself look presentable to his old comrade.

Chatter filled Nick's ears as he opened the doors to the administration building, taking off his cap and stuffing it into one of the many pockets on his uniform. Several large mammals were shuffling files full of paperwork from one office to another; others were on the radio with Luftwaffe HQ in Berlin Coordinating offensive efforts against the looming British bomber raid. He turned to a door near the end of the hallway belonging to the office of his former superior, Wolfgang Eisenhart, a prolific commander and longtime family friend. His knocks yielded no response from anyone inside the office.

A tiger in the opposite room stuck his head out and asked, "What do you need?"

"Do you know where Oberst Eisenhart is?" Nick asked as he held his paw up in salute. "I need to get my transfer paperwork from him."

The tiger, door now open, showed his full form and returned the salute. He was dressed in a typical dark blue Luftwaffe dress uniform, which displayed his rank of Major and campaign ribbons proudly on his chest, and knee high boots. "Command center. But be careful down there, you might get trampled. The allies are planning something tonight and HQ is dying to find out."

"Danke schön, Major. Heil Hitler," Nick remarked as he held his paw up in salute. The tiger returned it and slunk back into his office

He walked back to the main atrium and took a left down into the basement level of the building. Soft brown of wood paneling was replaced by gray concrete. At the end of the hall, two tigers stood guard at a double door leading to the war room. As Nick approached, the guard on the left held out his hand.

"Halt! What is your business here?"

"I need to talk to Oberst Wolfgang Eisenhart. He said it's urgent," Nick said pulling the note from his coat pocket.

"I don't care if it's urgent. No unauthorized personnel in the war room, no exceptions." The guard disregarded the note.

"It's about my transfer orders to Falaise."

Both of the tigers froze, looked at each other, and then looked back at the fox standing before them.

"Schultz, escort the Unteroffizier here to room 14A."

"But Klink, I thought you said –"

"Now Schultz!" Klink said spinning around, glaring at Schultz. The tiger nearest the door reeled back before signaling for the fox to follow him. Klink quickly ran to the phone on the wall and ordered the operator to patch him to 14A.

Schultz was mumbling indiscernibly under his breath, obviously begrudged by the way his comrade had treated him. The War Room was a loud and unorganized chaos similar to, if not more so, than upstairs. Smaller prey animals worked on the large map table in the middle of the room, moving flags and little figures symbolizing allied and axis troop movements within Europe. The larger predators in the room worked around the clock to maintain communication with Berlin and relay orders to each unit within the bases sector. The two walked to the opposite end of the war room into a smaller hallway where large meeting rooms for the chiefs of staff were located.

"Room 14A. The Wehrmacht must be planning something big if you're a part of it," Schultz remarked.

"You know who I am?" inquired Nick.

"Of course! You're Nicholas Wilde, The Red Terror. Your exploits on the Eastern Front are notorious here. Stories of the red fox who braved Russian winter, Stalingrad, Moscow, Operation Barbarossa…you're a legend!"

Nick retorted somberly, "I'm no legend."

"Then why do the Russians have a price on your head? Did you know the bounty is fifty thousand rubles to the mammal who kills you and brings your pelt to Stalin himself?"

Great…, Nick thought. Just what I need, more attention.

"Only fifty thousand?" he said, indulging the tiger. The larger mammal laughed, echoing through the hallway.

"Hans Schultz," the tiger said holding out a paw. Nick took his hand and returned the handshake.

"Pleasure to meet you Hans," Nick said. "Of course you already know my name."

A brown and cream colored timber wolf stepped out of the room in front of the two soldiers. Both the fox and the wolf recognized each other almost immediately.

"Nicholas!"

"Wolfie!"

"I told you not to call me that!" a smile still evident on the timber wolf's muzzle.

"And I told you to just call me Nick," retorted the fox.

"Ah, you haven't changed a bit, albeit a few more scars than the last time I saw you. How long has it been? Eght months?"

"Almost a year," corrected Nick.

"Scheisse…has it been that long?" he asked almost bewildered.

"I need to keep track of time more diligently. Oh, where are my manners? Come inside and sit down," Wolfgang said to Nick, ushering him in.

He then turned to the tiger, a menacing expression on his face. "Obersoldat you are to keep everyone out of this room until I say so. If anyone enters without my permission, I will personally execute you in the middle of the tarmac. And I'd hate to give the ground crews more work than they already have today."

"Jawohl Herr Oberst!" he saluted the timber wolf and briskly turned around in front of the door, the latch locking shut.

The room was bathed in an electric white light. The walls were barren except for the few maps of Europe that decorated the front of the room. The table was filled with charts and files that were incomprehensible due to the wild sketches of battle plans drawn on them. The timber wolf locked the door and grabbed an open bottle of Schnapps from the cabinet with two glasses. He sat in the seat at the head of the table while Nick jumped up into an oversized to the right of the head seat and stood on the cushion, his feet pads feeling the coldness of the leather. Eisenhart poured the Schnapps into the two glasses and slid one to Nick, who took a large gulp of the clear gold liquid.

"I see you haven't lost your good taste," said the wolf. "How's your mother doing?"

"Come on Stein. I know you. You don't break out the alcohol early for occasions like this," stated Nick. "Come on; cut the bullshit…where am I going."

The timber wolf took one last swig before setting the glass down. "You and your squad are being reassigned to the Twenty-Third Panzergrenadier Battalion."

Nick groaned at the prospect of fighting with regulars and finished off his glass. "Why are Fallschirmjägers being lent over to the Heer? Don't they have enough snipers?"

"Yes but…they've met some resistance in Falaise. Intelligence suggests that lead elements of the British Second Army are already occupying part of the town and trying to get a foothold. The Wehrmacht is mustering all the fighting mammals they can get their mangy paws on," Eisenhart answered. "In driving the allies back, the twenty-third lost most of their snipers due to counter-sniping operations by the Brits."

"Really?" questioned Nick incredulously. "How in the hell does a unit as big as the twenty-third lose that many of their snipers? I get if you lose a few but–"

"I know, I know. High command's been racking their brains about it too. But in the meantime, they've asked some the more experienced units to provide some snipers since they are shorthanded attempting to defend Cherbourg and Saint Lô," Eisenhart said with a solemn tone to his demeanor. The room grew silent except for the slight shuffling of the two mammals in the seats. As Nick looked closer and closer at the maps on the tables, he began to realize what this was.

"This isn't just another blocking action…is it?" questioned the fox. "This is a full blown offensive; to drive a wedge through the enemy lines and demoralize them. We're just pawns in a bigger operation."

Wolfgang took one long sigh as he poured another double shot of Schnapps, "Yes, it is. A massive counter attack against the allies to 'drive the invaders back to the sea' as Hitler put it. I'm sorry to have to put you in this position but I have no choice. If I could, I would've said no fo–"

"Don't apologize. You're only doing your job. I know what I got into when I joined the `jägers," Nick said as he finished off the rest of his drink. "You can count on us mein herr. We'll be ready to move out by midnight tonight."

The fox jumped off the chair landing on all fours before pulling himself off the floor. "Thanks for the drink."

"Here, you'll need these," said the brown timber wolf as he handed Nick his transfer paperwork along with his squad mates'. He was walking towards the door when Eisenhart stopped him one last time.

"You didn't answer my question, Nick."

The fox paused in his tracks, his paw on the door handle, "She died two months ago…"

"My condolences. If you don't mind me asking: of what?"

"The doctor said it had something to do with her heart." Nick pushed open the door and left the room, leaving the timber wolf to collect his thoughts.

"Come on then Schmidt. What are you waiting for?"

"Yah Schmitt. What are you waiting for, this Beute to beat your arsch?

"Shut it, Fuchs!"

The squad of five was sitting around a table in the middle of the mess hall, a stack of cards and a pile of money on the table. Two of the five were playing for the pot.

"I don't tell you how to play poker," said Schmidt

"Yah well, I don't get into these types of situations," retorted the brown fox hold his hands up.

"Well then if you know how to play, then show your hand already," stated the cape buffalo, cards in hand.

"You first!"

"I hope you're having fun over here," a voice from behind Fuchs spoke out. The five mammals, a tiger, cape buffalo, brown fox, a stag, and a rabbit, turned to face the newcomer.

"Hey Nick. How's your evening?" asked Fuchs.

"Could be better," Nick responded as he pulled up a chair to watch the action. "We've got new orders. We are to be transferred to the Twenty-Third Panzergrenadiers."

His squadmates groaned in unison.

"Ugh…panzergrens? Might as well be a transfer to a Säugetier division."

"Hey, I was in the Säugetiergrenadiers."

"Yeah, then you got smart."

"Look I know it sounds stupid but we've got counter-sniping duty against the British," Nick said.

"Counter-sniping?" the cape buffalo asked, putting down his cards face up. "If it's as easy as Stalingrad, we'll be back by tomorrow evening. Oh and Schmidt? Flush."

"They took out most of the Twenty-Thirds sniper group, Müller."

Everyone looked up at the red fox aghast, murmuring to each other.

"Schiesse…a whole sniper group gone?"

"Scheißkerl…"

"Definitely better than the Russians."

"We move out tonight," interjected Nick as he stood up. "Take a warm shower, get some hot food, and get some extra supplies from the Quartiermeister. I expect you to be mustered and ready at the motor pool by zero hundred hours. And Müller?"

"Ja Herr Wilde?" acknowledged the cape buffalo.

"A full house beats a flush."

"Ha HA!"

"Scheiße!"

"Ah come on Müller! I had two hundred Reichsmarks in that pot!"

Motor Pool
23:52

The motor pool was empty except for the few mammals loading supplies into the half-track that was to take Nick and his squad to Falaise. The five were standing at the vehicle entrance waiting for their Sergeant. Schmidt and Fuchs were smoking a cigarette while Müller, Herschel, and Klein were inspecting their weapons.

Out of the dark night came the familiar form of a fox dressed in green and brown camouflage, a helmet replaced his patrol cap; his rifle was sling over his shoulder.

"Achtung," Nick uttered. The squad stood at attention lazily, gathering their belongings at their feet. The driver ran to the door and signaled for the squad to load up. The engine roared to life and the half-track proceeded to the east gate.

War Room
00:07

"Hauptmann, we've got an incoming message from Falaise," stated one of the weasels at the radio consoles. "It's coming in very sporadically…I'll try to clean it up."

The weasel listened to the transmission, attempting to find the right amplitude and frequency. The wolf stood behind him, waiting patiently. His eyes widened and his paws hovered over the dials.

"Sir, you need to hear this." His paws turned a dial and started playing the message over the speaker on top of the console.

"– UNDER ATTACK! I REPEAT! FALAISE HAS BEEN ENCIRCLED AND IS UNDER ATTACK! WE NEED ASSISTANCE NOW! ALL ROADS HAVE BEEN CUT OFF!"

"Mein Gott…get me Berlin. And make sure all supply runs to Falaise are cancelled!" the wolf yelled across the room.

"A half-track left fifteen minutes ago with supplies and a squad of men."

"Verdammt scheiße…may God help them."