U.S.S. Nevada, 8:48 A.M.
Cheers were heard from all across the Pearl Harbor. During the fighting, only one battleship was able to get underway and try to make a run for the sea. It was the mighty Nevada, with her flag blowing free in the wind, with morale being boosted by such a powerful sight. This however made the Nevada a prime target. Any remaining Japanese bombers that still had a bomb, began converging on the mighty ship.
"BOMBERS IN BOUND!" Ensign Terry "Tramp" Roberts bellowed from the bridgewing, his warning coming just in time for the ship's commander, a broad-chested buffalo by the name of Donald K. Ross, to order evasive action as explosion after explosion rocked the Nevada. But despite the hail of bullets and barrage of bombs, she refused to stop.
Unfortunately, one bomb struck true.
"SIR!" a distressed Doberman shouted after getting off the horn with engineering, the alarm in his voice quite evident as "Alpha" Peterson's voice was known to break into a high-pitched sort of squeak when excited, or in this case, panicked.
"ENGINEERING REPORTS WATER COMING IN FAST! WE CAN'T TAKE ANOTEHR HIT LIKE THAT!"
Upon taking in the news, the now frazzled Ross began racking his brain over what to do. Upon realizing that Nevada still had quite a distance to the channel that lead out of the harbor and into open ocean, he knew that Alpha was right. If the Japs scored another hit and sunk her in the channel, it would cork up the harbor for months. And so, with great reluctance, Ross made the call to beach her to keep the channel clear for any incoming ships.
Meanwhile, some two hundred miles north of Oahu, aboard the Japanese Battleship IJN Nagato, a Japanese red fox scrutinized the horizon, silently anxious to see what little of the first and second wave of his attack force would return from scoring what many could only assume to be Japan's first victory against the United States.
This fox was the pride of the Japanese Fleet…
Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto.
"Admiral," one of his aids, a prim and proper racoon dog announced, the mammal holding a telegram, which was most obviously from the attack force.
"The latest report has come in; 'Great Success. Many Ships and Planes Destroyed.'"
"Admiral," another red fox stepped forward, "we are ready to launch the third wave of the attack."
And after a long moment of silence, the vulpine admiral, after closing his eyes in silent contemplation, made a decision that would greatly confuse his subordinates, who felt the need to deftly squash the U.S. Pacific Fleet. Though some might assume, for the tired fox, it was to ease his initial misgivings to make such a foolhardy attack.
"We no longer have surprise," he said, casting a cautionary glare to the others on Nagato's bridge.
"We will withdraw the third wave."
And while some would question the admiral's decision, others knew at that point a third wave would definitely be overkill.
With that, the Japanese planes departed from Pearl Harbor.
Never in modern had the start of a war ever began with such a smashing victory
In one hour and fifty minutes, the Japanese had sunk or badly damaged all eight battleships, sunk three cruisers, with three destroyers also sunk. One hundred and eighty-eight planes and most of their hangers were destroyed as well, but the worst part was still to come.
Back at the hospital, Rachel, the doctors, and any military medics were now having to treat the injured with anything that could be used. Belts and other pieces of clothing were being used as tourniquets; it was pure chaos. As Rachel removed her stockings to hand to a medic, she was then tasked with going outside to help sort out the wounded.
The minute she stepped outside, her heart nearly stopped. Hundreds of burned sailors were walking toward the hospital, their skin falling off with every step they took, and the screaming was sickening. Turning to an MP, she told him, "Don't let anyone in who hasn't been looked at first."
The MP nodded and he began pushing the wounded back.
"Stand back, you can't be let in yet."
"Don't touch me you, Jap!" a wounded Mooch shouted to a doctor who was a Japanese racoon dog.
"Get him off of me!"
Rachel rushed up and took Mooch by the hand who was crying his eyes out. His wound was ghastly looking, a piece of metal lodged in his rib cage and bleeding profusely. The lovely she-wolf could already tell that Mooch's condition was critical, so she wrote a big C on his forehead. Then an Alaskan Malamute who was a marine walked carrying a dead female wolf in his arms. Rachel knew who he was, SgtMaj. Steele Blackwell.
"I just found her," he said panting hard from carrying the body for so long. "I-I don't think she's breathing."
Rachel took one look at the body in his arms, there was no denying the truth that she was dead. Just then, Rex ran up. Fear was all that one could see in his eyes as his shaking hands turned the dead female's head toward him. When Rachel saw who it was, she couldn't hold back her tears any longer.
It was Melody, Rex's wife.
Rex began bawling his eyes out as he took his dead wife in his arms carried her to the very spot where he had proposed to her twenty-four years ago. Once he reached the spot, he placed Melody down after giving her one final kiss.
"What am I going to tell our boy?" he chocked as he placed a rose in her hands.
Battleship Row, 9:05 A.M.
Nick and Tod sat together in a small rowboat. With them were four other sailors they had saved from the water, but one sadly, did not survive. Still, the two of them moved through the harbor, checking ever sailor they found to see if they were still alive, but mostly what they found were dead bodies, some so badly burned you couldn't recognize them. As the two of them came upon the capsized Oklahoma, Nick noticed a body floating face down in the water.
Reaching out carefully, the young fox sailor grabbed the dead sailor's life vest and turned him over, only to be met with the awful sight of Foulfellow's lifeless eyes staring at him. Not wanting to leave his friend the water, Nick pulled Foulfellow's body into the boat. Tod then spoke up.
"You see Hood out there?" he asked his grief-stricken friend. Nick looked around but could see no sigh of said fox. Nothing. Nothing but dead bodies and burning wreckage of the ships around them.
Back with Rogue Squadron, the group was still reeling from their horrifying encounter. But luckily, there were no causalities, only some minor damage to their planes. One round from a Zero missed Sam's head by inches before going straight through the plane's compass.
Before long, the squadron did a fly over of Battleship Row, their hearts sinking faster than the ships in the harbor. King and Sam felt particularly pained when they saw the Arizona.
"King, Sam," Hench called over the radio, "you guys know anyone on the Arizona?"
"Yeah," Sam responded after a minute, "Commander Jim Hutchinson...Hutch and I go back to the Academy."
"He's also dating my daughter," King added in, before falling silent as the group made their way to their intended destination...
Hickam Airfield.
After being greeted at Hickam, Sam excused himself to head toward the hospital, curious to see if Hutch had somehow managed to survive.
Once he arrived, he could see trucks filled with corpses, the stench of smoke and blood heavy in the air. Walking into the hospital itself, Sam began asking about Hutch.
"Are there any distinguishing characteristics," a doctor had asked, "tattoos, jewelry...?"
In instant, Sam was hit with an idea. bringing up his left hand, he presented on brass ring on the fourth finger. On it were the words,
United States Naval Academy, Class of 1940.
"He would have been wearing this," he answered, "our class ring from the Academy."
At that moment, the doctor took on a solemn look as he silently began to lead Sam to a room lined with what could only be bodies covered in white sheets.
And when he stopped at one in particular, Sam felt his heart beating faster as the doctor leaned down to lift the sheet past the neck, revealing Hutch, the left half of his face charred beyond recognition. Nearby were personal items that had been recovered from his body, including…
His class ring.
Sam fought back tears as he looked at the face of his friend. He was even more pained at the thought of Terra hearing the news.
Unfortunately, the mourning was short lived as a partially burned Alex Trumbull, clearly unfazed by his own injuries, barged into the ward, all the doctors and uninjured soldiers and sailors looking at him in alarm, only for a steadfast expression to burrow itself on their faces.
"I have men trapped everywhere in the harbor; I need help form anyone who can move."
Needless to say, Sam, King and Hench, and a handful of others where on the case. Before they knew it, they were on the steel underbelly of Oklahoma, the three wolves helping other soldiers and sailors with jackhammers and blowtorches try to save the men and women who were trapped in the bowels of the capsized vessel. And hearing the tapping from within filled those on the outside with a feeling of hope…but also dread. And upon peering through a freshly cut hole, Sam's heart dropped as he saw the overturned boiler room rapidly filling with water.
"HELP US, PLEASE!" a frighted lion yelled, the sailor probably no more than eighteen frantically shooting his hand out of the hole, desperately grabbing for anything that might help.
"GET ME SOME AIR LINES UP HERE!" King bellowed, hoping to give the trapped sailors some much needed air that they would so be without. Unfortunately, the supply of hoses used for the purpose was low, and as the room continued to fill with water, Sam and his colleagues could only watch helplessly as the sailors began to cough and sputter on the sea water that began to rise and pore out of the cut made, several hands steel reaching for something.
But all Sam and the others could provide was a hand of their own to hold in their final moments, the feeling of the trapped sailor's grips filling their already aching hearts with great dread.
The next day, the flash came in over the radio from President Roosevelt.
"Vice President, and Mr. Speaker, and Members of the Senate and House of Representatives: YESTERDAY, December 7, 1941, a date which will live in infamy, the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan."
The broadcast was heard around the world.
"The United States was at peace with that Nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with its Government and its Emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific."
In Redshore City, New Jersey, a saluki and young teenage wolf, said teenager the daughter of one of John Dillinger's faithful lieutenants, sat in the spacious parlor of the former's brother, the district attorney of Redshore, and his family, which included his Irish setter wife, as well as their young daughter. And across the pond in England, a dalmatian female, along with an astounding one hundred and one little spotted pups seeking cover in the backyard bomb shelter of the Radcliffe Home for Wayward Pups, listened in to the address over the sound of bombs being dropped by the dreaded Luftwaffe. And not ten blocks away in his own apartment, sat an aging, potbellied canine, the wrinkled dog puffing away at a cigar and sipping at a glass of scotch as he listened to the speech given by the man, he had asked aid from the previous year…
The Old Bulldog himself…
Winston Churchill.
"Indeed, one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in the American Island of Oahu, the Japanese Ambassador to the United States and his colleague delivered to our Secretary of State a formal reply to a recent American message."
In the west coast city of Calatonia, California, a local theater troupe sat listening with tearful eyes. One of them, a German-born pig, was wondering what the leader of the old country must be thinking at this point. And sitting in his office in the Reich Chancellery, a dark-furred Austrian pincer sat listening with great anxiety, the canine scratching at his little mustache in mild anticipation of where this speech was going to go for HIM.
"And while this reply stated that it seemed useless to continue the existing diplomatic negotiations, it contained no threat or hint of war or of armed attack."
In New York City, a white German-shepherd, one of the best stars on Broadway, sat in his La-Z Boy, a beautiful, slim tuxedo cat sitting in his lap, the Italian-born Jewish feline feeling similar sentiment as the Calatonia pig who was but a stranger to her. And needless to say, the broad chested Italian wolf dictator was sweating.
"No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory. I believe that I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost but will make it very certain that this form of treachery shall never again endanger us. Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory, and our interests are in grave danger. With confidence in our armed forces—with the unbounding determination of our people—we will gain the inevitable triumph—so help us God."
And in the Kremlin, a mustachioed Siberian tiger, whose nation had come under attack by the very man he had seen as an ally began finding himself mentally reiterating an old Arabic proverb.
The Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend.
"I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire."
At that moment, America was at war with Japan.
Two days later, President Roosevelt called his top military advisors for a very important meeting.
"Is it true," the aging beaver began, "that there are still men and women trapped alive in the Arizona?"
The room was deathly silent, the plethora of different animals nervously looking to one another on who should answer until finally, the esteemed Colonel Winston Maverick spoke.
"We can hear tapping on the hull," his raspy voice responded, a hint of sorrow evident in his tone.
"We are doing everything we can to get to them sir," a smartly dressed navy stag responded, the highly respected Captain Frederick Stewart, or "Great Prince of the Forest" or "Prince" for short given the Tennessee native's love of nature responded.
"…but they are forty feet below water."
A long moment of silence followed, no one daring to say anything else as the President sat back, the navy veteran himself finding it hard to believe that he could have been so blind to the obvious warnings that had been sent his way.
"We have deceived ourselves into thinking we are invincible," he finally said in a calm, but firm tone.
"But now our proudest ships and squadrons have been destroyed by an enemy we deemed inferior."
Another long silence before the president uttered an undeniable truth.
"We are on the ropes…that's exactly why we have to strike back now."
"We are preparing an attack on the Marshall and Gilbert Islands -…" a very professional Marine lion began to speak in a deep, authoritative voice, the ever-popular General James "Mufasa" Williams being quickly interrupted by the president.
"I'M TALKING ABOUT HITTING THE HEART OF JAPAN…THE WAY THEY HAVE HIT US!"
It was at that moment King, who had been asked to attend the meeting, shared a cautionary look with Sam, who had also been invited, not just because of his reputation, but also because he was a close personal friend of the president's son, Franklin Roosevelt Jr., the two navy flyers silently convey what needed to be said. Thankfully, they were not the ones who needed to say it.
"Mr. President," a rather imposing Texas longhorn began, the revered Admiral Chester Nimitz obviously preparing himself to walk on eggshells.
"The Japanese caught as at Pearl because we didn't face facts…we can't afford to ignore them again."
"The admiral is right, Mr. President," a forty something year-old lioness said from beside Mufasa, the leader of one of the most efficient American squadrons in Europe and Mufasa's wife, Colonel Madge "Sarabi" Williams of Huntress Squadron.
"The Army Air Corps has long range bombers, but no place to launch them."
"I concur with Colonel Williams, Mr. President," Sam voiced in, all eyes on the youngest attendant of the meeting, though this did not deter him.
"Midway is too far, and the Reds won't allow us to launch an attack from Russian."
Roosevelt then turned his attention King.
"Commander Ramirez?"
"Navy planes are small and carry light loads," King hesitantly responded, his second-in-command adding in more to fill in he blanks.
"They have short range, so we'd have to get them within a few hundred miles of Japan at the risk of our carriers. And if we lose our carriers, there will be nothing left to stop an invasion."
The tension in the room intensified at this, no one at the table daring to oppose Sam's sound logic. Even King solemnly looked at the table. For a full minute nobody said a thing. Not even tapping of the stenographer present made a sound.
That is until Roosevelt spoke again.
"Does anyone in this room think that victory is possible without facing danger. We are at war…of course there's a risk."
"But consider the risk, Mr. President," Winston countered.
"If the Japanese invaded us right know they could penetrate as far as Chicago before we could stop them."
At that moment, the President let out an annoyed sigh, slumping back in his wheelchair at what he was hearing. But, upon looking at the offending machine that carried his polio-stricken body for most hours of the day, Roosevelt now understood what each member of the table was feeling…
Hopelessness.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," he finally said in a calm, yet defiant tone, "most of you did not know me when I had the use of my legs. I was strong, and proud…and arrogant. Now I wonder, every hour of my life, why God put me into this chair, but when I see defeat in the eyes of my countrymen and women, in your eyes right now, I start to think that maybe He brought me down for times like these when we all need to be reminded who we truly are, that we will not give up or give in."
"Mr. President," Sarabi hesitantly said, the lioness very hesitant to meet the beavers' eyes, "with all due respect…what you are asking…simply can't be done."
And while many at the table wished that the president would accept their reasoning, what they saw in his eyes was not one of acceptance…but conviction. And before anyone knew what was happening, the president released the brakes on his cheer, pushing himself away from the table, before reaching below the table, an audible click sounding through the as he straightened the metal braces on his legs.
And the moment he hoisted himself out of his chair with great difficulty, the old rodent looking as if he would collapse to the floor if he let go of the chair or table, everyone present bolted to their feet. Even Sam, with lightning speed, beat the president's own personal aid to the beaver.
"MR. PRESIDENT!" Sam called in alarm as he began to assist Roosevelt, only to be abruptly stopped by the booming, authoritative voice of the struggling man.
"GET BACK SAM!"
A tense pause…followed by a firm whisper.
"Get back."
With great reluctance, Sam did as he was told, standing back and watching with worry, but also great awe and admiration, as little by little, Franklin Delano Roosevelt pulled himself to a standing position. And once he did, he glared defiantly at a visible stunned Sarabi.
"Colonel…do not tell me…IT CAN'T BE DONE!"
The next day, Germany declared war on America.
That night, at a local bar, Rogue and Angel Squadron held a private service for Hutch, raising their shot glasses as a salute, one being full beside a picture of Hutch. Sam even found himself helping King and the rest of Angel Squadron comfort a heartbroken Terra, her cheeks stained with tears as she wept into Eve's chest, embraced from both sides by her "Mama Bear" and father.
But over in a corner of the bar was Rex, his son, brother-in-law, and niece and nephew all sat around him, each holding a drink in honor Melody Chambers.
"Today, we honor my wife, Melody," Rex said as he downed his drink.
Humphrey nodded.
"To a wonderful mom who taught me the values of life," he said downing his drink.
"My sister was a kind, but very stubborn girl. Always nagging us not to leave a mess in the house," Cody smiled as he downed his drink.
It was then Elise's turn to speak.
"Aunt Melody could cook and clean just as good as she could play blackjack," the young O'Connor said with a sad giggle, then downed her drink, but almost coughed it back up at the taste of it.
Daniel O'Connor looked sadly at his drink, unsure on what to say.
"I..." he paused and thought for a second more.
"I will miss Aunt Melody, who not only loved us, but took care of everyone she saw as family. May God be with you, Aunt Melody."
Daniel said as he downed his drink.
After that, the four mourning wolfs sang a song that was one of Melody's favorites.
I saw the harbor lights,
They only told me we were parting,
The same old harbor lights that once brought you to me,
I watched the harbor lights,
How could I help if tears were starting,
Goodbye to tender nights beside the silvery sea.
At that moment, the sound of a piano mingled with the mourning families voices, the quartet of wolves looking to sea Sam sitting at the bar piano, the surprisingly skilled wolf tickling the ivory keys as he began to sing the next verse.
I long to hold you near and kiss you just once more,
But you were on the ship and I was on the shore.
Upon noticing that the others had gathered around him, including the members of Burrow and Husky Squadron, the former joined by the surviving foxes of the Oklahoma, Robin having be found after the attack being treated for minors burns in the hospital, Sam, after eagerly nodding his head to all around him, laughed along as his silent invitation for them to join in was answered. And before long, the entire bar was filled with sound of sing sailors and pilots.
Now I know lonely nights,
For all the while my heart is whispering,
Some other harbor lights will steal your love from me.
And for a brief moment, the sorrow was lifted as everyone belted the last verse.
I long to hold you near and kiss you just once more,
But you were on the ship and I was on the shore,
Now I know lonely nights,
For all the while my heart is whispering,
Some other harbor lights will steal your love from me.
And as the last notes faded away, it seemed to do so with a quiet reverence.
Unfortunately, by January, the Mavericks and Reynolds received disheartening news; The Alpha and Omega Squadrons had been reassigned to Europe.
The White House, Washington D.C., 10 January, 1942
President Roosevelt sat reclined in his comfortable sofa, one of his polio-stricken legs propped on the cushions as he reviewed several military reports from the European and Pacific Theaters. Since the United States had entered the war, Roosevelt's light brown fur was becoming much greyer from the stress of the past month.
The President, upon hearing footsteps approach, turned his bespectacled eyes upwards to see the approaching forms of two men he greatly admired as they were two of the best pilots in the U.S. Military as a whole; Commander "King" Ramirez and Lieutenant Samuel Davis of the Enterprise's Rogue Squadron, both dressed in smart black, gold buttoned navy uniforms, caps tucked beneath their arms.
"Mr. President," King began after he and Sam offered a salute which was waved away.
"Sir," Sam began, "we think we may have an idea on how to bomb the Japanese."
Roosevelt knew what they were talking about.
Since Pearl Harbor, Roosevelt pressed his top Military advisors to come up with a plan to bomb the Japanese as soon as possible. The subsequent raid would deal a great blow to Japanese morale, while at the same time boosting American morale.
"Sir," King added in, pulling the President from his thoughts, "it's risky, but it's bold."
Looking past the two men, Roosevelt, for the first time, noticed a third navy officer.
"Who are you?" he called, causing the brown-furred grizzly officer to stand at attention.
"Captain Low, Mr. President."
"He's Assistant Chief of Staff of Anti-Submarine Warfare," King clarified, "he came up with this strategy."
"I like sub-commanders," Roosevelt said with a smile, "they don't have time for bullshit...and neither do I."
And so, the planning for one of the most daring operations in the Pacific Theater began.
The Doolittle Raid.