Honor

Lone Wolf_fanwriter

*Balto, Jenna, and all other Balto characters are the intellectual property of Universal Pictures and Amblin Entertainment.

*This story was partially inspired by the Band of Brothers series created by Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg. This story is not meant to be a historical portrayal, so some parts may stretch the boundaries of reality. The names Winters, Nixen, and Doc Roe are used simply for this story. Any similarities between their portrayed characters and their real life counterparts are purely coincidental and not intended.

*This fan fiction is rated PG-13 for war violence, some blood, and occasional cursing.*

*The song ‘How Do I Live without You’ is copyright to Trisha Yearwood.

*The song ‘No Place That Far’ is copyright to Sara Evens.

Chapter One

A World at War

May 10th, 1943

Balto looked again at the slip of paper in his hand. Earlier the previous week, he had reported to the local recruiting station and signed a voluntary draft form to enlist in a new branch of the Army called the Paratroopers. It had only taken the doctor five minutes to make his assessment, which was reflected word for word on the slip of paper.

Fit for combat.

It had been only two days after his seventeenth birthday, but he had been anxious to enlist since the day his older brother Jacob had joined the Air Corp in 1942. His mother, however, had not endorsed his enthusiasm to enlist early, and would not sign the form. Even when he had asked her permission only two months earlier, her answer had remained the same: They would not loose all three of their sons to the war.

At this remembrance, Balto recalled the last time he’d seen his oldest brother Tom, on the day after Pearl Harbor. That day, he had joined the Navy in hopes of avenging the over two thousand young men the Japanese had killed. Their mother had made a fuss, but it was her silence afterward that hurt him the most. At 19, he was the oldest of the three, and was already of age when he brought home the form for voluntary draft. His mother had sighed and taken the form from Tom’s outstretched hand.

‘I’ll sign this,’ she had said, ‘on one condition and one condition only…’

Tom had leaned closer, meeting her gaze.

‘That I never, and I mean never, open up the morning paper and find your name on the list in the back.’ She placed yesterday’s paper on the table and rested her finger on a short list that had grown with each passing month. Balto looked and felt his heart tighten. The casualty list.

Tom had nodded, and the next day, he walked into the recruiting office with both signatures.

Balto sighed and shook his head. Since that day, he had only heard from his brothers through his letters, which, although written almost every other day, arrived sporadically. There had come a month once when his mother did not receive a single letter from either of them, and she had become almost frantic with worry. Early the next month, though, they finally received word. Tom had been out on active duty, and had not been able to get any of his letters out. He apologized for this, and promised he would try to let them all know in advance if he would be out of communication. Jacob’s letter arrived two days later. He wrote that he had been involved in intense fighting, and had thus been unable to write. He also promised to keep in touch. Even so, his mother still worried for his and Tom’s safety, and for good reason.

Mounting the stairs and entering his room, Balto left the paper on his dresser and started changing his outfit. Tonight, he wanted the war to be the farthest thing from his mind. It was, after all, his junior prom.

Being a farm boy in ‘Nowhere, Virginia’, he didn’t have a suit like most other guys at the prom were sure to have. What he did have was his father’s dress uniform from the Great War back in 1918. This’ll have to do, he thought, stepping into the brown pants and matching jacket. After checking the golden buttons in the mirror, he eyed his overall appearance.

The brownish-tan fur that went from the tip of his nose all the way down the front of his torso was slightly lighter than his jacket, and the brown fur that coated the rest of his body was slightly darker, so, clothing and all, he comprised three different shades of brown. Not uncommon for a wolf-hybrid. Quite uncommon was his build: tall and lean. It was this, perhaps, at which he sighed. Being taller than many other boys his age had made it easy to lie. He had to be eighteen to join the Army. He was barely seventeen, but what did he care? No one would find out. He also hated being different, and sometimes mocked for it, but tonight, these things, normally so prevalent in his mind, seemed very far away. Without a second glance at the mirror, he snatched the lieutenant’s hat from its perch on his bed pole and descended the stairs feeling like a new person. When he entered the kitchen, his mother stepped back and put a hand to her chest. She had been sure that Balto had joined up as well, but it took only a moment for her to recognize her husband’s old uniform.

“Well,” Balto said, taking a big breath, “how do I look?”

His mother sighed and smiled.

“You look wonderful, dear,” she said, fixing his collar, “You’d make him proud.”

“Thanks mom,” Balto replied, a tear coming to his eyes, “I wish I’d known him.”

“So do I dear,” his mother sighed, “You would have loved him. He certainly loved you.”

They stood in silence for a moment before his mother spoke again.

“How late will you be out?”

“Eleven, I guess,” Balto shrugged, “Maybe midnight?”

“Alright, be safe,” she replied, pressing something into her son’s hand. He looked down in surprise. It was a set of car keys.

“If only just this once,” his mother warned jokingly, “Have fun dear.”

A few minutes later, Balto arrived at his first destination. He stepped out of the car and with a few strides was at the front door of a rather large house compared to his own. He knocked twice on the oak door and then removed his cap respectfully to wait. A few moments later, a short grey female wearing an apron opened the door.

“Yes, what is- Oh, Balto, you scared the life out of me!” she exclaimed, cracking a smile. Balto smiled in response, glad to see Jenna’s grandmother again.

In the summer, he and Jenna would often come to her house after school to pick some of the apples from the trees in her back yard. Both of Jenna’s parents worked until near supper time, so her grandmother would sit in her rocking chair and sew while Balto and Jenna quizzed each other on their homework.

“Hello Ms. Parker, I’m here to pick up Jenna.”

“Yes, of course, of course! Do come in!” she said happily, turning to shout down the hall, “Jenna! There’s a young man here to see you!”

“I’m coming! Just a moment!” came the sweet-voiced reply.

“Well, in the meantime, why don’t you sit down,” said Mrs. Parker, indicating a ready chair at the kitchen table, “Would you like some water?”

“No thank you, Ma’am,” Balto replied, taking his seat, “I’m sure there’ll be drinks at the dance.”

“Suit yourself.” Just then, there came the sound of another car in the driveway, and Mrs. Baker looked out the window. “Oh good, you can meet Jenna's father.”

“Um, we’ve already met,” he murmured.

“What’s that, dear?”

“Nothing, ma’am.”

Suddenly, the front door opened and Mr. Baker stepped in. He was a tan and brown husky around 40 years of age, but not much taller than Balto. Even so, Balto respectfully stood up and addressed him.

“Good evening, Mr. Baker.”

Mr. Baker, who was still busy hauling a package into the hall, stopped suddenly and turned around to face Balto.

“Oh, so you’re the one,” he snapped.

“Yes sir,” Balto replied, being careful not to say too much for fear of, shall we say, overexciting Mr. Baker. His efforts did little good.

“I come home expecting to meet my daughter’s date and I find you!” Mr. Baker grumbled, “How did you get here so fast? You only got off a half hour ago.”

“I had to hurry, but I managed.”

“George, what are you two talking about?” Ms. Baker interrupted, quite confused.

“This farm boy’s been working part-time at my store for weeks, and he has yet to impress me!” her husband grunted, “You hay-sees are all the same, hard-working, but not cultured at all!”

“George!” Ms. Baker gasped, quite alarmed, “You take that back! Now this fine young man has worked up the courage to ask our daughter out and she said yes. That’s good enough for me!”

“We’ll it isn’t good enough for me!” he replied. Just as he was about to storm out of the room, he stopped again upon noticing, as if for the first time, Balto’s ‘suit.’ Having served in the First World War, Mr. Baker instantly took offense at what most veterans would be proud to see. “And just what do you think you’re doing wearing that uniform?” he demanded.

At the same time, the Baker’s live-in maid, Annie, a stout black female whose short muzzle did not betray her age, though she may have been any age from thirty to fifty, stepped into the entryway. Unbeknownst to those in the kitchen, the wise maid had been listening with some discontent as Mr. Baker had hurled insult upon insult on Balto, and had finally decided to intervene. She covered her entry into this domestic battleground by starting a common question.

“Ms. B, where did you want me to-” She stopped abruptly when she saw Mr. Baker stomping up to Balto until their muzzles almost touched. Balto recoiled slightly, but kept his composure. “Mercy sakes, Mr. Baker, give the boy some respect!” Mr. Baker, however, ignored the maid as Balto began to speak again.

“Mr. Baker, I needed good clothes for tonight and my mother suggested I wear my father’s old uniform,” he said, “I didn’t mean to offend you, but it’s the only thing I can wear.”

“Well, you don’t