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Well, you guys asked for it, so here it is. Well, I guess you really didn't ask for it, but you told me I could post it. A word about the universe I've created here; the dogs in it are anthroid, meaning they go about on two legs like humans. Again, if this bothers anyone (meaning if you don't think it belongs here), I'll go right ahead and take it down. The last thing I want is for someone to be upset that I'm posting something that doesn't involve the Balto characters. So, without further ado, I present...
The Payment
Fur-fiction written by HrryNrmn
All characters and events herein are property of and copywriten by HrryNrmn and may not be used for any reason without his express, written permission.
I could tell you a lot of things about the Great Canine War and what I did back then. I could tell you how I stormed beaches with the boys, bullets flying thick around us. I could tell you how I parachuted into the backcountry, deep behind enemy lines and fought off hordes of enemies with only my rifle. I could tell you how I charged a machine gun nest, saved my whole platoon, and lost my left arm in the process and how I was awarded a bunch of medals when I finally got home. You’d believe all that stuff too, I and I can’t really blame you. I’ll tell you why this is so. Because you weren’t there. You weren’t there and you didn’t have to see all the things that happened to us. You’d believe us because we are heroes, or at least that’s what the press and the President and everybody wants to believe. But I’ll tell you one thing: when I got home with my medals and my stuff in a trunk and stood in the dooryard of our farm I never felt less like a hero. Maybe that’s why I’m writing this little diary on a crummy spiral-bound notebook too many years after things happened. I’m just an old codger that barely anyone remembers anymore, much less cares about. When I’m dead and gone, and I really don’t think that will be too much longer now, someone will find this and learn a little about what happened during those dark and stormy years, when the canines went to war. Maybe if I write this down, I can sleep at night. I don’t sleep as well as I used to. Back then, we weren’t heroes. Back then, we were soldiers.
In those days, the war was nearly over. I hadn’t been in it from the beginning, but by then, almost no one had. The platoons were designated by breed, and then after the casualties really started to hit they were designated by type, and by the time I hit the mix they just kinda threw everyone in together. That’s how I ended up with the motley group I ended up in. There were 16 guys to every platoon and each platoon divided into groups of 8 for most duty. I can remember every guy that was in my group; I can see them just like it was yesterday, but only 3 of them, 4 including myself really matter, at least to the tale I’m telling now. There was me, everyone called me Max. I was a big, goofy-looking German Shepherd, and I guess a lot of people would still say I’m still big and goofy-looking, even though my muzzle is completely gray and my hips hurt so bad that I can’t hardly walk. I may still look goofy, but I feel about as comical as a dead clown. Back then though, I could run with the best of ‘em, and it seemed like if I stood still for more than ten seconds, I might just pitch over dead. Now I think if I tried to run or dance, I might just do the same. Funny how things change isn’t it? There was a guy we called Chief, although I can’t remember for the life of me why. He was a bloodhound with big mournful eyes and the deepest voice I ever heard. I always got on good with Chief, I’d guess you’d say he was my best friend back in those crazy days. Then there was a guy named Mike, we used to call him Iron Mike and with good reason: he was tougher than a two-dollar steak, as the saying goes. He was a German Shepherd, like me, but where I was always more wiry, he was barrel-chested and stronger than an ox. I used to think you could belt him over the head with a church and not even phase him. Lastly, there was a guy named Harvey, although we all called him Squirrel. We called him that because he always looked kinda mousy, and because he was a little crazy, you know, squirrelly. He was a ratty-looking little French Bulldog, and everyone gave him grief about his size. He was by far the shortest of us, barely cracked 5 feet tall in his combat boots. As a result, his clothes never tended to fit him properly, and I always joked he looked like a scarecrow up from the cornfield. But you couldn’t let his size fool you, Squirrel was one mean ticket. I once saw him knock a guy at least a foot taller than himself right over for laughing at him. I tell you, I kept the scarecrow jokes to myself after that. Squirrel always looked like he was about one step away from really being a dangerous SOB. I guess you could say we saw how dangerous he could be, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
We were on patrol when all hell broke loose. We were ambushed, and even though I can try to tell you what happened, I barely even know myself. Me and the three others I told you about broke off from the group and ran toward a woods that was about 200 yards away from where we were at the time. It was the longest 200 yards of my life, let me tell you. You’d could call us cowardly for running away and I suppose you’d be right, but the only thought in my head at the time was getting myself under cover and figuring out what to do next to save my own life. I’d like to see what any one of you would do in that situation. Anyway, we half-retreated, half returned fire from the woods, all the while walking and stumbling backwards over rocks and downed trees. By the time we got our stuff sorted together, we were as lost as we could be. I guess you’re probably wondering about why I don’t tell you more about the battle. Well, the reason is that there really wasn’t much of a battle, and maybe I’m a little ashamed that I ran away. And anyhow, what happened in those woods is what I’m really trying to tell you. I’ll have to pick this up later, my hand is about to fall off from writing, and I think I here the nurse coming…
Well, that's the intro. Sorry to leave you hanging. I don't think I'll post any more of it until it's finished, but I do have a good idea of what is going to go down. Thank you for reading.
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