Maybe it’s just passing by and wondered who we are? Or can they smell blood, like sharks? I don’t know…
Shit.
The wolf takes a step forward, letting out a low, guttural, growl as it shows me more of its teeth. Its feral gaze switches between Newman and me.
I call over my shoulder. “Ah, Newman? Can you move?”
“I don’t think… I can, Hughes. Even breathing is pumping more blood… outta my side.”
Fan-fucking-tastic!
Am I meant to keep eye contact with the wolf, or avoid it? Is it confrontational or disarming? It certainly doesn’t look worried or discouraged at the moment… It looks like it’s standing in line at a goddamn buffet!
I feel myself tremble slightly as a rush of adrenaline surges through me. This is probably the first time I’ve ever been in a genuinely life-threatening situation. I think people assume that, when faced with such a high level of danger, they’ll be scared, almost by default.
I did, too, if I’m honest.
But now I’m here, living the situation, knowing how close I am to my life coming to an end… I don’t actually feel scared. I feel fear, but I don’t think that’s the same as being scared. Fear is a basic, human impulse. You can’t choose to know what fear is, but you can choose to be scared of what’s invoking that fear. And I’m not. I mean, this wolf is fucking big—its shoulders, legs, and back are bulging with natural, raw strength. Its jaws will be like a vise, and those yellow teeth, all pointy and threatening… If it gets a grip on me, I’m a dead man.
But I’m not scared. I accept what’s in front of me, and all I can think about is how I’m going to beat it.
My main objective is to protect Newman. I quickly look at the ground around me. It’s wet and muddy, covered with leaves and twigs, but very little else. Certainly nothing of any use.
I take another slow step backward, putting myself directly in front of my injured friend. The wolf takes another step toward me, raising the hackles on its back. Its eyes are wide and wild.
I take a deep breath, and another, ignoring my ribs and whatever else is causing me discomfort after my hillside tumble. I’m doing everything I can to focus on the wolf—I slowly drown out all other noise… the rain, the lake, even my own breathing… Finally, even the tweeting of the birds disappears. Now, I can hear nothing except the thump of my own heartbeat and the rasping, primal breaths of the beast before me.
I think back to Hunter’s lesson yesterday. I watch its movements. It raises its back end slightly, its leg muscles tense, its mouth bares almost all of its deadly teeth…
It’s getting ready to pounce…
Oh, fuck!
I sidestep at the exact moment the wolf rushes forward, lunging through the air like a missile, teeth first, aiming for my throat. I instinctively spin counterclockwise and smash my elbow forward, hitting the wolf squarely on the side of its head mid-air.
It lets slip a yelp from the impact, and flies away from us, landing heavily. I drop into a fighting stance and watch as it recovers, shaking its head and barking rabidly. It charges again, this time too fast for me to react. It jumps and hits me with its two giant front paws. I fall backward and land hard, pinned to the ground by the wolf. I get my arms up in time to push against its throat as its head snaps down—its deadly jaws are inches from my face. I can smell the foul stench of rotten flesh on its breath, and my stomach turns.
The strength in the animal is otherworldly! My arms don’t have the power in them to hold on for more than a few seconds. They tremble as the wolf, thirsty for my blood, forces my elbows to bend, allowing its face to inch closer to mine.
If it gets through me, Newman’s done for. I can’t let that happen…
Its claws are piercing through my uniform, pressing into my chest. I let out my own primal scream as a fresh surge of adrenaline from a hidden reservoir somewhere inside flows through me. My arms straighten again, and I wrestle with the wolf, squeezing as hard as I can on its throat.
“Adrian! Here!”
The words distract me momentarily and I chance a look to my left. There’s a thick, sharp, bloodstained twig lying next to me, just within arms’ reach. I frown, before looking up at Newman, who’s clutching his side as best he can, staring at me. He slumps over, his head bouncing off the ground.
“Newman!”
You crazy, dumb sonofabitch!
Using every ounce of strength I have left, I push the wolf up and hold it with my right hand. I know I only have a couple of seconds… I desperately reach out to the left, grab the stick in my hand, and then whip it into the side of the beast.
I feel it penetrate the wolf’s body, and it yelps again as it rolls off me, falling away to the side. I scramble to my feet, holding the twig in my hand. The wolf is still on all fours, breathing hard, but almost staggering toward me.
As I charge it, I let out a guttural roar, sensing its weakness. I stab it again in its side. Its high-pitched squeal sounds loud in the wilderness, sending birds fleeing from the trees. I slam the makeshift weapon into its body repeatedly, losing count of how many times I penetrate the thick fur and puncture its flesh.
After a few moments, I swap hands, and with one final jab, I plunge the twig deep into the creature’s throat. It falls sideways, momentarily twitching, as it hits the ground. Then it’s still… dead.
I sink down onto all fours, gasping for breath and ignoring the pain as the adrenaline subsides.
Oh, shit, Newman!
Looking up, I rush over to him. “Newman, you crazy bastard! Talk to me!”
I’m not sure if I should move him, so I lean close to see if I can hear his breathing.
“…in… uts…”
What? His voice is a barely audible whisper. “What are you saying, Newman?”
He wheezes, followed by a weak intake of breath. “You’re… fucking… nuts…”
I smile. “Hang in there, buddy. You’re gonna be alright.”
I move over to my bag and pull out the medical kit. There must be something I can do to help him while I figure out how to get us out of here.
16:37 CDT
I’ve managed to patch Newman up and stop the bleeding from his side wound. It took nearly all the bandages I had with me, but he seems to have stabilized. Everything else, he’ll have to suck up and deal with.
The rain’s finally eased, and we’re sitting side by side against the tree, rationing our water and food, staring out at the nearby lake. Newman’s been asleep most of the afternoon, but I’ve kept waking him to give him water every half hour or so, mostly to make sure I can wake him. The corpse of the wolf is lying motionless a few feet in front of us.
A couple of hours ago, we heard the chopper overhead, flying the rest of our unit, and presumably the boys from the 16th Armored, back to base, after the training exercise was complete. I did stand and wave my arms, but there was no point—they wouldn’t have been able to see through the trees. I figure they’ll be heading back to try to find us, but I’ve heard nothing yet, either in the air or nearby on foot, to suggest they’re actually out there looking.
I unscrew the top off my water bottle and pass it to Newman, who takes a grateful swig before handing it back.
“If we stay in this forest much longer, we’re gonna start losing natural light,” I say to him. “We should get moving if we want to make it back to base by nightfall. How are you feeling?”
He grimaces a little. “Better.”
“Better enough to stand up?”
“I’ll give it a shot.”
I get to my feet and hold my hand out, which he takes. I pull as he moves his legs to push, and with some effort, he stands upright and leans back against the tree, smiling through the obvious pain.
His left arm is hanging by his side, and he traps it close to his body, placing his left hand on his side wound. “The list of shit that hurts is longer than the list of shit that doesn’t.”
I smile. “I heard that.” I pick up my bag and sling it
over both shoulders. “Come on, let’s go home.”
He rests his right arm across my shoulders and I take some of his weight. We set off, back in the general direction we came from, along the waterfront, hoping to find civilization sooner rather than later.
After a few steps, we draw level with the wolf. Newman nods to it. “We should bring the body back, so people will believe us.”
I shake my head. “Nah, too heavy. Besides, I didn’t kill it to be remembered or to brag… I did it to survive.”
“Man, it was fucking unreal watching you fight that thing. Weren’t you scared?”
“Not really… I didn’t have time to be. I just felt these… instincts take over, and I knew I had to do whatever it took to win. Ironically, it was Staff Sergeant Hunter’s lessons that helped me the most—but if you ever tell anyone that, I’ll leave you in a worse state than this, believe me!”
I smile and he laughs. “Your secret’s safe with me, Omaha.”
18:03 CDT
We’ve found a good rhythm, and it feels like we’re making decent progress. Daylight is fading fast under the cover of the trees, but I reckon we’ve managed at least a mile, maybe more, in the last hour or so. We’ve only had to stop the once, just so Newman could catch his breath. His bandages are holding up, despite blood having seeped through, staining them a deep red.
“How far out do you think we are?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. The rendezvous point and target zone for the exercise was only supposed to be about five miles into the woods. Thanks to Jones’ navigation skills, or lack thereof, I reckon we only got halfway there, which means we’re hopefully close to halfway home by now.”
“You think we’re gonna be in trouble when we get back?”
“You won’t be. I might be in for a disciplinary hearing or something, but I honestly could give a shit. If I’d done what Jones suggested, we might not have got to you for another few hours, and you’d have been eaten by that wolf. Worst thing they can do to me is kick me out, and I hate it here anyway.”
“Actually, the worst thing they can do to you is throw you in the USDB, over at Fort Leavenworth, and then you’d face a court martial for disobeying a direct order from a commanding officer.”
“Huh… aren’t you the fucking cheerleader of the unit…”
He chuckles and we continue in silence.
The waterfront starts to dog-leg to the right, leading us to a distinctive path heading forward, which looks promising.
After ten minutes or so, I actually see something I recognize. I point to a clearing that resembles a crossroads. “Hey, this is where we started. The highway mustn’t be far from here now.”
The cover from the trees begins to thin out as we walk on, and the natural light actually increases as the gray skies finally show through. Another fifteen or twenty minutes pass, and we step out of the woods and stare across the interstate.
We both take in deep, painful breaths of fresh air, enjoying the view of cars shooting past in both directions. It’s strange, but being in those woods for so long today felt like we were a world away from Fort McCoy and the rest of our squad.
“Do you think they’re out looking for us?” asks Newman.
I shrug. “I dunno. I’d like to think they would be, but we did the right thing not staying in the same place. That wolf’s friends might have come looking, and we couldn’t afford to wait an unknown amount of time to get you some medical attention.”
We hurry as best we can across the interstate and head along South 8th Avenue toward the barracks. As we approach the main gate, the two MP’s on duty walk out of the guard hut to greet us. One of them is talking into his radio.
“I need a medic ASAP,” I shout over to them.
“En route,” replies the guard with the radio.
Within a minute, two Jeeps appear, speeding toward us. They stop just inside the barrier. One is the army’s version of an ambulance, which has a stretcher in the back. The driver and his passenger rush out, take Newman’s weight from me, and lead him over to the vehicle. One climbs in the back with him, helping him lie down, while the other slides back in behind the wheel. As they drive off, toward the main base, Newman gives me the thumbs up, and smiles weakly.
The other Jeep has two MPs inside, who step out to meet me. The guard who first greeted us appears next to them. “Private Hughes, we have orders to detain you on sight, pending an investigation.”
I frown. This is one of those situations where you kind of expect something to happen, but secretly hope you’re wrong—then you’re pissed when it turns out you were right.
I already know the answer to this…
“On whose orders?”
One of the MPs from the Jeep moves next to me, producing a set of cuffs. “Staff Sergeant Hunter. Turn around and place your hands on your head.”
I let out a heavy sigh. Piece of shit…
I wince as I mentally relax for the first time all day, which allows all the physical pain I’ve gone through to finally register.
I don’t move.
The MP steps toward me. “That’s an order, Private.”
I slowly turn around and feel the cuffs slapping onto my wrists. “Yes, sir…”
Give me another wolf any day…
4
July 31, 1990
08:00 CDT
I’m standing to attention in an office on the second floor of the main building. There’s a window in front of me with the horizontal blinds closed. Just to the left of it is Old Glory, attached to a wooden flagpole, slotted into a mahogany stand. On my right is a map of the United States, framed behind glass and hung on the plain white wall.
Between me and the window is a desk. It’s dark wood, and the surface is clear, except for a telephone and a neat stack of papers. Sitting behind it is Lieutenant Colonel Aaron Hock, the CO of 2nd Battalion.
Hock’s in his early fifties and has spent his entire life in the military. He’s a tall, proud man with a thick mustache and a hard-set face. I’ve had very little interaction with him since joining the 27th, but he’s always justified his reputation as being fair and intelligent. He has this… presence about him that commands respect. You know when he walks into a room.
Off to my left, also standing to attention, is Staff Sergeant Hunter. The look on his face is hard to read—I can’t tell if he’s happy I’m about to be court martialed, or disappointed. Since arriving back at the base, yesterday, the MPs escorted me to a holding cell, where I stayed the night pending this hearing. I guess they take disobeying orders seriously… Who knew?
Hock clears his throat. “Private Hughes, do you understand why you’re here?”
I look him in the eye and nod. “Sir… yes, I do, sir.”
I wouldn’t dream of giving him any of the attitude I feel necessary to give Hunter on a daily basis.
“Well, that’s something…”
Hock’s definitely easier to read than Hunter, and I recognize the disappointment in his voice. I suppose things like this ultimately reflect badly on him, not just the unit and me. And Hunter, but he’s an asshole.
Hock leans back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms, and bridging his fingers in front of him. “Tell me what happened.”
“Sir, we split into two teams, Alpha and Bravo, in order to approach the target site as part of the exercise against the 16th Armored. Private First Class Jones then proceeded to get us lost. Private Newman slipped off the ridge we were walking along, and we saw him take a really bad fall before disappearing out of sight. Jones wanted to rendezvous with Alpha team, led by Staff Sergeant Hunter, and then circle back around to find Newman. I admit I got angry and questioned the decision, which I know was wrong. But… I believe my reasoning was sound, sir. At the time, my gut instinct was that Newman wouldn’t last the couple of hours all that would take.”
Next to me, Hunter scoffs under his breath.
Hock glances at him, but doesn’t acknowledge it. He nods to me. �
��So, what did you do?”
“I took a chance and jumped down after him, sir. I busted a rib along the way, but I found him. He was in a bad way, and no sooner had I made contact, a wolf approached us. We were close to the waterfront, and it must’ve been his territory or something. I was able to kill it, and then patch Newman up enough to stop the bleeding from his wound. Turned out I was right—if we’d followed Jones, Newman would’ve been killed.”
“But you had no way of knowing that, soldier.” I glance at Hunter. He points his finger at me accusingly. “You—”
Hock holds a hand up to silence him and then gestures to me to continue.
I nod. “We made our way back here and that’s when the MPs picked me up, sir.”
Hock drums his fingers together, staring absently at the surface of his desk. “Son, the United States military is one of the best, and most feared, in the world. Do you know why that is?”
I shake my head.
“It’s because we’re disciplined. We’re big and strong, that’s obvious. But the fact we’re disciplined means our soldiers are the best there is, and that’s what makes our enemies fear us. Without that discipline, we’re nothing.”
I nod, showing my understanding.
“That said, what you did yesterday, Private Hughes, took courage, and guts, and heart—and as disciplined as we are, that’s stuff you can’t teach. If this was a real-world scenario, whatever the outcome, you’d be thrown in Leavenworth and dishonorably discharged. Do you understand that?”
I nod again.
“I cannot stress the severity of not respecting your chain of command and disobeying orders enough.”
“Sir, I understand that, I do. Please don’t take my disagreement with Private First Class Jones as a sign of disrespect. I fully accept whatever punishment you deem necessary, but I stand by the decision I made, and I’d do it again, because I know it was right. Sir.”
He stares at me, his jaw set, and I find it hard to hold his gaze. But I do.
“By all accounts, son, I’m inclined to agree with you on that part. If it wasn’t for your courage and downright stupidity, Private Newman would no longer be with us.” Hock stands to attention and salutes me, which I return. “I consider this matter closed—lesson learned.”
A Hero of War--An Adrian Hell Novella Page 3
