Tennesee Campaign
#5 of Operation: Liberation
The cool, spring rain fell to the soft, forest ground as I pulled security, kneeling under a tree that protected me from the falling rain.
_ Ugh, all this rain and waiting is killing me!_
Today's date is the seventh of May, twenty-seventeen, nearly twenty days after the Liberation of Atlanta, and almost three months since the Russians invaded the United States. We've been taking our land back, effectively beating back the opposition.
The unit I was currently attached to was the 3rd Combat Marines, being a part of a squad nicknamed "Typhoon". After the Georgia campaign, I still felt shaken up over the lost of all my squad mates. I still had the guilt, but I knew that I couldn't dwell on it. They would all want me to not worry about them, right? I had to live and fight for them.
I took the eleven dog tags of my fallen squad mates out of my ACU pants pocket and held them in my free paw, then shoved them back into my pocket. "Warwing?" a female voice inquired behind me.
I looked back, seeing Bluefrost coming over to me, her M4A1 in her paws at the low port carry. Her woodland MARPAT uniform was completely soaked with rain, as well as the rain bouncing off her kevlar helmet. From what I know, Bluefrost was no older than twenty-three years old, standing at about the same height as my squad leader, Sergeant Nighthawk.
"Yes?" I responded as she kneeled beside me.
"Just checking up on you," she answered, looking off into the forest, "we will be Oscar Mike as soon as the armor catches up to us."
Around us, there were other marines as well as trees, NOTHING but trees. To my six, the road was there, with a few humvees and LMTVs parked to the sides. Relative to the road, we were to the right when facing north.
At the moment, all the squad leaders and RTOs were in a meeting with the senior commander here, Colonel Friz Snowpaw. Our current orders were to wait for the M1 Abrams tank column, which consisted of about six tanks. Since then, we have waited here for three hours. THREE HOURS! And the rain wasn't heaping the situation either.
I sneezed, which made Petty Officer Third Class Bluefrost flinch. I don't know if it was the weather that was making me sick or the trees since it was springtime, but all I know is that I have a slight cold.
"You know what this weather reminds me of?" I asked the female panther beside me, who now had her weapon slung behind her back and reading a smudged letter.
"What?" she looked at me after folding up the letter and putting it away in her pants pocket.
"About two years ago, when I was still in high school," I spoke, "I swear like, it snowed in April. Before that, it was a different season every day for like, the beginning of that year." That was true, because I remembered always feeling nauseous just because of the frequent weather changes.
Oh Georgia, how I love your weather. But this was Tennessee we were in, or at least a few miles in. Either way, this weather was taking a toll on my head. "I remember that," Bluefrost spoke, her weapon in her paws, "at the time I was in South Carolina at my first duty station. Those early months were SO bad."
"Alright, Marines!" the rough, country voice of the Colonel yelled out, "Mount up! The tanks are not too far out!" The faint roar of tank engines could be heard off in the distance.
Bluefrost and I got up, walking towards the road. We climbed into the lead humvee, which had the other two members of the squad already sitting inside it. "It's about damn time we started moving," the male anthro in the in the driver's seat said as we closed the doors. I sat in the back with Airthro First Class Whirlwind, squad Typhoon's RTO, while Petty Officer Third Class Bluefrost sat up front with Sergeant Nighthawk.
Sergeant Rapier Nighthawk looked like he was in his early twenties, having brown fur. Since he looked cleaned up, I could see that he legit had brown fur. He, no doubt, was from New York since his accent was thick. Whirlwind, on the other paw, was eighteen with white fur, which was stained with mud. She was from Alabama, her southern accent thick.
"So here are our new orders," Sergeant Rapier began as he cranked up the vehicle, "we are going to hit Chattanooga. We made contact with the British Royal Marines and they aren't too far from East Ridge. So we are going to link up with them there. Remember, keep your eyes open, the damn Ruskies could be hiding anywhere, since this is a neighborhood we are about to pass through."
The radio, which was attached to the back of the sergeant's seat, then spoke, "tanks have caught up. Ready when you are, Typhoon." With that, the humvee lurched forward, with the rest of the column following behind us.
"At least we are moving again," Bluefrost spoke, sounding annoyed. I couldn't blame her, I was kind of tired of waiting myself.
I looked out the window of the vehicle as my squad leader drove at a steady speed, the rain patting the windows in a rhythmic, soft pattern. I couldn't help but let my mind wander a bit, watching the trees and burning cars he drove past.
What has ever happened to my friends and parents? I couldn't help but think about it since my four friends from high school, including my cousin, Cailean, all went our separate ways in the military when we graduated high school. Come to think about it, we all Skyped a day before the attacks started. The only one in the United States at the time was Cailean, for he was in the Army reserves and chilling at his house.
I checked my M4A1, making sure it was loaded and clean. I wouldn't want my weapon to jam up on me to force me to use my sidearm.