by John O'Brien
RED TEAM: LYCAN
Book II of Red Team series
A Novel by John O’Brien
Published by John O’Brien at Smashwords
Copyright © 2019 John O’Brien
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in review, without permission in writing from the author. You may contact the author at [email protected]
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover art by: J Caleb
http://www.jcalebdesign,com
This book is dedicated to my sweet little Tilly Bear. She was my little angel and was so full of happiness that she’d literally bounce everywhere. You came into my life, stole my heart, and brought such joy and happiness that can't be adequately described. I miss your head resting on my leg, looking up with eyes so full of love. I miss you sitting at my side as I wrote and nudging my arm away from the keyboard to get a pet. I miss you lying on my pillow at night, waiting for me and then resting your head on mine. I will see you again and we’ll cross back over the bridge together. Rest in peace, sweet Matilda, my dear Tilly Bear, Tilly Willicans, Tillbuckets, You are missed.
With soft brown eyes,
Resting your head on my lap,
You gazed into mine with such love and adoration,
A love that was returned in kind.
The waking every morning,
To the sound of your thumping tail,
As it beat heavily against the bed,
Signaling your joy to wake in a world filled with love.
You sat by my side,
Your head pressed against my leg,
Expressing your loving heart,
Far greater than your body could hold.
Every night,
We shared a pillow,
Head against head,
Completely content to be in the world together.
The feel of your soft fur,
Beneath a hand filled with my love for you,
Every room you entered,
Was instantly filled with joy and love.
You were a fighter,
With a heart of gold,
An angel,
Sent briefly to fill my world.
Although we cannot now share these things,
Taken before your time,
You will always be in my heart,
Holding dear our brief time together.
Rest in peace my sweet Tilly Bear,
I miss you terribly,
But we will see each again,
Upon the fields of green.
Other books by John O’Brien
A New World Series
A New World: Chaos
A New World: Return
A New World: Sanctuary
A New World: Taken
A New World: Awakening
A New World: Dissension
A New World: Takedown
A New World: Conspiracy
A New World: Reckoning
A New World: Storm
Companion Books
A New World: Untold Stories
A New World: Untold Stories II
The Third Wave: Eidolon
Ares Virus
Ares Virus: Arctic Storm
Ares Virus: White Horse
Ares Virus: Phoenix Rising
Red Team
Red Team: Strigoi
A Shrouded World
A Shrouded World: Whistlers
A Shrouded World: Atlantis
A Shrouded World: Convergence
A Shrouded World: Valhalla
Lifting the Veil
Lifting the Veil: Fallen
Lifting the Veil: Winter
Lifting the Veil: Emergence
Lifting the Veil: Risen
Authors Note
This wasn’t the easiest book to write. For one, my little Tilly Bear became ill with an autoimmune disease literally on the first of the new year. It seemed we were at the many vet offices and specialists more than we were at home. But we finally had her diagnosed and on the road to recovery. She had a minor relapse and with an additional medication, we were back on track. However, two nights after starting the new medication, she reacted badly to it and crashed hard. Within a matter of hours, after rushing her to the emergency clinic, my little girl lost her fight. I cannot even begin to describe just how devastated and torn up I was. It wasn’t an easy thing to do to start writing again. She was nearly always at my side when I wrote and I miss her terribly.
The other aspect in writing about monsters in today’s day and age is the firepower we currently have access to. I can definitely see why many of the storied creatures are set in olden times. So, some of their capabilities have to be reinvented. When I first started on this book, I had a very difficult time formulating any kind of tension or threat. In my initial thoughts, I found it too easy to locate the Lycans through technology and rain fire down. So, the reverse of my normal writings came into play. Instead of finding ways of destroying these creatures, I had to actually find ways of making them more survivable. That is not an easy thing to do. It actually nearly made me quit writing about monster hunting as their destruction was almost too easy. But, I persevered, most of my time writing envisioning scenarios rather than actually putting words to paper. I hope in the end that I did an adequate job.
There are several story arcs that are beginning to emerge, each one playing differing roles that Red Team is currently on the fringes of. I won’t go into detail as that’s what makes the stories fun, but there’s a lot going on behind the scenes which will come to light later. I’m actually rather excited as each arc slowly infiltrates the world of Red Team and can’t wait to share those discoveries.
I’m going to say this now, many might take the ending here as something you weren’t expecting. But I’ll throw this little tidbit out there now, it will have an impact later down the road. I know, spoilers, but there are exciting times ahead.
As always, I want to thank you all for the support you’ve shown. If you enjoyed the story, would you mind taking a little time to go back and leave a review. I read them all and they help me to become a better story teller. I hope the new year is bringing you joy and prosperity.
John
Table of Cotents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
About the Author
Connect with me Online
Prologue
Eitan lies at the edge of a narrow ridge rising above the near featureless desert. Below stretches the light brown of hard, sandy soil, broken by gullies and the occasional rectangular patch of green fields. The relentless sun unmercifully beats down, immediately evaporating any sweat that forms on his exposed skin. The grit that has crept beneath his camo fatigues causes an endless irritation that begs to be shaken free, but he knows it will only be replaced within minutes.
The thin finger of land jutting from the flat-topped hill behind points almost directly toward the Al-Dumayr military airport where one end of the paved surface is streaked black with use. He and his team replaced another Sayeret unit t
hree days ago, their mission to keep tabs on Iranian transports arriving at the airbase. Other teams are scattered across Syria, watching for incoming missile and armament shipments to be targeted by the Kheil HaAvir—the Israeli Air Force.
Once a shipment has been identified, drones will be called in to mark and follow the packages which will be targeted once they reach their destination. It’s tedious work in the heat, but a job Eitan knows is necessary.
He feels a tap on his shoulder and turns to look at David lying next to him. Yosef is out of sight to the rear, keeping their backside clear while the other three members of the team rest in the shadows of the hill. Turning to where David is pointing, Eitan spots a thin line of black smoke in the sky. The aircraft looks to be on a long final approach toward the airport lying six miles northwest.
Adjusting the high-powered spotting scope in front of him, Eitan focuses on the inbound aircraft. In the magnified view, the tan four-engine high-wing turbo-prop seems to hang in the pale blue sky.
“C-130,” Eitan mutters, knowing David will be logging each word.
As Eitan watches, the main gear doors open underneath the fuselage as the front gear door drops slightly and slides back, allowing the wheels to fall into place. He follows the aircraft down, watching as the flaps lower to their full down position.
“Green, white, red…Iranian markings. Tail number five dash eight five one five,” Eitan says, placing a camera to the lens and snapping a photo.
The C-130 crosses the runway threshold, two sudden puffs of bluish-white smoke marking its touchdown. Although too far away to hear the engines, Eitan sees the nose depress as reverse thrust is applied and the aircraft taxis clear of the runway. A flurry of movement marks the ramp as trucks are brought out and the small figures of soldiers form a semicircle around the transport airplane as it comes to a stop.
Still watching, Eitan notes the rear ramp lower. This is where he’ll need to pay particular attention. The transport could be just delivering more soldiers, which he’ll include with his report, or it could be smaller crates of weaponry and ammunition. Or, it could be large containers housing missiles. If it’s the latter, he’ll make the call to have a drone brought in.
Forklifts enter the rear of the aircraft, backing out a moment later with stacks of long, large crates. He takes several pictures of the unloading process, zooming in on the sides of the cases.
“Make the call,” he tells David.
The faint noise is barely audible, but Eitan reacts. It sounds like a muffled thrum followed by something he’s heard numerous times—the solid thunk of something hitting flesh at high speed. Eitan reaches for the carbine by his side, rolling onto his back while bringing his weapon to bear. This far behind enemy lines, any odd sound warrants a quick and violent response.
Three tan-camouflaged figures, their faces covered with shemaghs, are crouched several feet away. Eitan sees two carrying crossbows. A third is shouldering a carbine aimed directly toward him, the black hole of the barrel looming large with more figures showing behind. The young Sayeret knows in that instant that he’s dead, but he’ll take one or two with him.
Eitan feels something heavy slam into him just as he’s squeezing the trigger, like someone hit him with a baseball bat. Registering the same thunk coming from David nearby, Eitan expects to hear the sound of his carbine spitting out bullets. His stunned mind can’t figure out why his weapon isn’t firing, why he isn’t able to force his finger to pull the trigger.
His head falls back onto the ground of its own accord, his entire body going slack. Fire racks his body. Unable to move, he can do nothing but endure the fierce pain. He gasps for breath, but even that motion becomes difficult. Aside from the pain, his only thought is of failure. He failed his team, he failed his nation. The last thing he witnesses is three shemaghed faces peering down before everything goes dark.
* * * * * *
The shadows are long across the logging road as the day passes toward evening. A deep gloom holds fast under the trees, the woods extending into darkness. One side slopes upward, the hill the two men are on ending at a long ridge that connects with others. On the other side is a steep descent that plunges into a narrow valley through which a river flows rapidly over smooth stones.
With his rifle over his shoulder, Ted hitches his backpack tighter to alleviate the strain on his neck and shoulders. His brother Carl walks beside him, constantly readjusting the rifle slung over his shoulder. This is an annual ritual for them. No matter what else they have going, each takes a break from his life for this weeklong hunt through the hills and ravines of these mountainous area. They do it to commemorate their dad, who had taken them up and down the steep hills in their youth, teaching them how to enjoy the outdoors.
Ted and Carl walk out of the enclosing trees into a clear cut that opens to the sides. The slopes both up and down are filled with young trees, all looking as if they sprang up within the last year. Thick clumps of bushes grow in between.
“Remember that time we saw the bear behind the bush?” Ted comments.
“Oh yeah. I remember feeling something off and then seeing its head poke above the bush. I wasn’t sure if I needed to stay very still or back slowly away,” Carl responds.
Ted chuckles. “I’ll never forget the look on your face; your eyes were as big as plates, and you were all hunched over as you slowly stepped backward. You kept looking from me to the bear as if I should do something.”
“Oh, I remember. You weren’t doing much better. I think you were deciding if you could run faster than me,” Carl snickers.
“That thought may or may not have been going through my mind,” Ted replies, slapping Carl on the shoulder.
The two brothers continue along the road, descending out of the mountains. Their camp is still a few miles away, nestled in a small hollow near the stream. They aren’t worried about arriving after dark, having spent years getting to know the layout of these hills. Halfway through the clearing, Ted sees movement among the saplings downhill.
It’s a herd of whitetails, the antlers of several bucks towering above their heads. Ted and Carl pause, staring at the gathering.
“Too bad it’s elk season,” Carl muses, looking at one buck that could be worthy of a trophy.
“It’s like they know and just come out to flaunt it. I’m fairly certain I saw that big one pass by my stand earlier where it stood, stretched, and yawned before moseying away,” Ted adds.
“Of course, when we come up here for them, they’re nowhere to be seen.”
The antlered heads rise and turn in unison, looking uphill with ears twitching and noses in the air. As one, they turn and bolt downhill, vanishing into the trees on the far side of the clearing.
“Must have caught our scent with the downhill draft,” Ted says.
“They had to have seen us beforehand. But, I guess so. One of life’s greater mysteries.”
The western skies are lit in a fiery strip of oranges and reds, silhouetting the forested hills on the other side of the valley. Behind the two brothers, the first pinpricks of starlight show in the deepening sky. A chill draft flows down the hillside, replacing the day’s heat seemingly all at once and sending a shiver down Ted’s back.
“Well, we should get a move on. We aren’t getting any closer just standing here,” Ted states.
“And, it’s your turn to cook. I say we break out those steaks.”
Readjusting their packs, Ted and Carl continue and again enter the trees crowding the road. The tall trunks stretch high overhead, the boughs near the top forming the top of a tunnel. The light of the setting sun only penetrates through small breaks in the trees, the night already closing in. The sounds of their boots scuffling along the hard-packed surface and catching on the occasional protruding stone echo off the nearby trunks. The enclosed area of the logging road holds the chill of the upcoming night close, the only sounds their breathing and the creaking of their packs.
Neither brother is concerned about the lack o
f a kill. The joy for them is being out together. Many times, they’d come back empty-handed. They hike the hills, search the ravines for tracks, and find places for their stands. They judge the wind and the carry of their scent, but prefer to sit in each other’s presence or talk of their past and present lives. It’s merely a time to remain connected.
As the sun falls below the horizon and a deeper gloom settles in the woods, neither is concerned. They’re confident about being in the woods, knowing that not much will actually confront them. In times past, they’d both been tracked by cougars, but the big cats seemed content to just follow. They’d also been woken by the howls of wolves reverberating off the hills in the dead of night.
Ted and Carl march between the trees with the stars popping into view overhead, each man lost in his thoughts as they watch for where the road forks. Almost immediately below them, down the steep hill, should be their camper. They could turn off the road and march straight to it, but they’ve done that before and had the terrain kick their butt. The last time they tried, it ended up taking more time as they had to veer back and forth through the tangled growth. Within the deep shadows of the trees up the hill, Carl catches a flash of movement in the corner of his eyes.
“What was that?” Carl whispers, pausing to stare between the trunks.
“What?” Ted asks.
“I don’t know. I just saw something up the hill, moving quickly,” Carl answers.
The two stop and stare into the shadows, seeing nothing. The day says its final goodbye, the silver moon rising above the hills to the east.
“Probably just a rabbit or squirrel,” Ted finally says, turning to resume his walk.
“That would be one fucking big squirrel,” Carl comments, following his brother.
“Trick of the light,” Ted says over his shoulder.
