by John O'Brien
As the eastern sky lightens with the coming dawn, Greg and McCafferty crawl to our position to relieve us. Gonzalez and I will have a chance to catch some shuteye before relieving Denton and Henderson on the perimeter. As the sun crests the mountains, with light flaring across the ground and chasing away the shadows, I close my eyes and quickly fall to sleep.
* * * * * *
A yellow moon fills the sky like we’re on some alien planet as it peeks above the line of mountains, seeming like it’s just about to kiss the planet. I feel as if I could reach out and touch the cratered surface. Howls drift up, singing to the large orb of light ascending the heavens. Gonzalez and I turn our heads, our eyes meeting. The cries were definitely closer than the ones we heard the night prior, seeming to come from the other side of the ridge. Of course, sound reverberates though valleys and off the steep inclines, making them seem closer at times.
“Greg, McCafferty…are you two awake?” I whisper in the radio.
“I am,” Greg returns, “but sleeping beauty here may need a prince to wake her.”
“Don’t even think about it,” McCafferty states, her eyes still closed.
“If you two are about done, head over to Henderson and Denton on the perimeter. Lynn, spin up that chopper, we may have company in the area,” I radio.
“Roger that, Jack. We’re in position but don’t see anything on the monitors,” Lynn responds.
“Copy that.”
Minutes tick by. Unlike the previous night, the surrounding forest is quiet, the night denizens of the forest that sang the night away silent. The moon fully emerges into the night, bright enough that I can see my shadow on the stone underneath me. As it climbs, it loses both size and color, turning its usual silver. A hush settles across the land, the frogs holding back their croaks and the owls failing to call to one another. The only motion is that of the cattle growing restless in the meadow and edging quietly toward the middle.
“Multiple sensors activated on the north side, nothing on camera as yet,” Lynn calls.
“I’m showing the same,” Denton replies.
I look toward the northern side of the meadow, trying to see through the deep shadows of the dense forest that descends from the ridge line we’re connected to. My mind holds a picture of the wolves we encountered, agile and loping silently through the woods on their way to the blood they scented. And with them, that monstrosity that knocked our Jeep on its side.
My heart quickens, my hand caressing the M-4 at my side. Once the Lycans are downed by the Spooky, then Henderson and Denton will start blowing heads apart with their .50 cals. I’d have the two snipers engage at the same time as the gunship, but I don’t want to betray our position by the flashes of gunfire. If we’re spotted, there exists the possibility that the werewolves will redirect their attention toward us. They should be taken care of by the overwhelming firepower of the gunship and the claymores placed around the lower perimeter, but I’m not taking any chances. I mean, other than being on the ground in the middle of nowhere with a pack of Lycans close by.
I gaze toward the edge of the trees, waiting for the first shapes to emerge. Gonzalez has lined the clackers in front of her, ready to set them off should the Lycans attempt to run back into the woods. We’ve arranged them in sections so that we don’t blow the ones we don’t need.
Where are you? I think, expecting the wolves to emerge at any time but not seeing a thing moving.
“Lynn, anything on camera?”
‘Negative, Jack. The sensors on the northern side went crazy for a moment, but they’re silent now,” Lynn responds. “Whatever tripped them either hasn’t made it to the cameras or it’s backed off.”
“That doesn’t bode well,” I say. “Is that chopper spun up?”
“Affirmative.”
“Get it in the air. Keep the sound of it away from here, but get it airborne.”
“Roger. It’ll be five minutes out on your call.”
Five minutes is a long time when shit is getting flung from an active fan. I’m tempted to just call it, but then we’ll be back at square one doing the exact same thing later on.
“Greg, pull everyone away from the perimeter toward my position. Let’s get some room between the tree line and us. Spool the claymore wires behind you.”
“Copy.”
“Do you think they’re coming this way, sir?” Gonzalez whispers.
“I don’t know. But when someone approaches a trap and then suddenly reverses, you have to assume they heard something they don’t agree with. You have to presume you’ve been found out,” I answer.
“Do you think they saw the equipment?”
“I have no idea. The blood and cattle should have led them into the field. Whatever it is, it has to be so powerful that they’d forgo the scent of blood.”
“Maybe they scented or saw us and are heading this way.”
“That’s a possibility, but we’ve been extremely careful with our scent and movement. Even if they saw through the trap or became nervous, I doubt they know we’re here. But we can’t take any chances either. And that’s all assuming that it was Lycans tripping the sensors in the first place. It could have been an elk herd for all we know. If it was, then the blood would have spooked them away.”
“I suppose that’s plausible,” Gonzalez replies. “But, what about the howls?”
“That may be what sent the herd running. They could have been running from the sounds, smelled the blood in front of them, and said fuck it, we’re going another way.”
“Makes sense.”
“Sensors activating at our position,” Denton calls.
“Or, I could be wrong,” I state, looking over my shoulder.
“Confirmed here, Jack. Your perimeter is lighting up. Cameras confirm a number of wolves converging on your position,” Lynn radios.
“Raven flight, let’s see if we can turn that five minutes into two, shall we,” I radio the chopper on standby.
“On our way.”
“Pickup on the ledge at our position. Will have IR flashing,” I state, rising and turning with my carbine in hand.
“Copy that.”
Kneeling with our backs to a drop and Lycans to our front isn’t the ideal situation; in fact it sits a touch outside of my comfort zone. “Sliding” down the steep cliff and bouncing off the rocks as I plummet to the ground below seems like a viable alternative at the moment.
“Lynn, hold off on any fire until we blow the claymores, and then keep a constant fire on the tree line…25 and 40mm. I’ll call it.”
“You’re inside the margins for 40mm,” Lynn replies.
“Yep. I’m aware of that.”
My heart is hammering in my chest and I take a deep breath to stabilize. Fear and the accompanying adrenaline can be very useful tools, but only if kept under tight control. The heightened senses and awareness bring a clarity and focus, although I tend to be rather direct when it hits. I feel the effects already, the rocky bluff and surrounding trees becoming clearer, the pieces a moving map in my mind. The varying shades of the night show all detail and I’m thankful for the gifts brought on by the drink the Strigoi gave us.
“Confirm danger close,” Lynn radios.
“Confirmed. Gonzalez, watch the right flank, McCafferty the left. I don’t want any surprises from the sides. The rest, spread out to the front. You heard the danger close call. Find some cover without impeding lines of sight. We have five minutes and counting.”
At Denton’s shoulder, I see the monitor showing one of the cameras to our front. Mottled gray and white figures leap into view and flow silently past. Scenes from other cameras replace the one in view, showing more arriving from the left and right. Wolves will generally show a frontal position and attack from the flanks, though I’m not certain that these hunt in the same manner. Of course, there isn’t much of a flank here; the area is confined to 180 degrees. Denton has his hands poised near the arranged clackers.
“Greg, move over to McCafferty, Hende
rson to Gonzalez.”
The first faint heat signatures appear, moving between the trunks inside the wood line. Our claymores are positioned in the open. If we blow them too early, the effort will be wasted with most of the plated BBs hitting the trees.
“Lynn, any sign of the big boy?”
“Not as yet.”
Wolves vault out of the tree line on all sides at once, their speed making them nearly a blur of movement. There’s nothing subtle in their plan: it’s an outright assault meant to overwhelm in seconds.
“Blow them all,” I order, placing my hand on Denton’s shoulder before moving slightly to the side. “Everyone down.”
“Fire in the hole,” Denton says, repeatedly clicking the first device.
The explosion rocks the cliffside plateau, smoke shooting to the front and rear of the claymores. Fire and heat show up thermally within the mass of dark smoke that blocks our view beyond. More claymores blow to the sides. A rolling thunder of blasts rumbles across the plateau, echoing off the surrounding ridge lines and through the valley below. All four zones of two claymores apiece are blown, smoke encompassing the entire front, leaving only the top half of the trees visible.
“Okay Lynn. Light up the tree line and just inside,” I radio.
My head rings from the explosions, my bones feeling brittle from the concussive waves that roll through. A momentary calm settles across the nighttime bluff as the smoke begins to dissipate. The smell of gunpowder replaces the scent of evergreens that had filled the night only moments ago. Whimpers and pained yips filter in from within the smoke, followed by a number of wolves leaping through it, materializing almost instantly.
“Firing,” Lynn replies.
The wolves are faster than I remember, leaping great distances, their movements a smear of motion.
Above, a steady red stream zips out of the nighttime sky, the path of origin changing as the Spooky orbits. The sound of a power saw cutting wood accompanies the light show, along with the steady rhythm of chuffs as the 40mm cannon adds its fire to the mix. Small explosions rip the tree line, visible only as heat blooms through the dissipating smoke clouds.
Gunfire erupts from the left and right as the team pours their rounds into the oncoming wolves. With my carbine shouldered, I attempt to aim at one wolf bounding our way, but it’s difficult to hold onto the blurring target. I pick a lead point farther to its front and fire. The M-4 kicks repeatedly as I deliver a full burst. The rounds streak out of the barrel and race across the plateau. They care not whether there is a target. They have no thought process and only go where they’re aimed, leaving the calculations to the one giving them directions.
The rounds converge on the fast-moving wolf, both courses intersecting. In midleap, the Lycan is struck in the chest and shoulder, its path altered. With a yelp of pain, it lands heavily on the rocky ground. Scrambling quickly back to its feet, it growls and snarls as it bites at wounds it can’t reach. Tendrils of smoke rise from its bloodied fur where the bullets struck. I send another heavy burst into the creature, the rounds slamming into its side as they burrow toward the heart. The wolf is thrown sideways, hitting the ground again with cries of pain.
It rises again, and then falls. A third time, it gains its feet and starts walking away, its steps ungainly as it staggers and falls again. I would send another volley into the heavily wounded creature, but there are more pressing targets. One is out of action. My only care is to keep the wolves at a distance, to stay alive for a few more minutes.
The top of the bluff is filled with howls, gunfire from our carbines, the zipping from the airborne Gatling gun, the detonations as 40mm shells plaster the tree line, and the heavy footfalls of closing Lycans. Phosphorous grenades explode showers of white heat, the shrapnel spreading out to burn whatever flesh it finds.
Taking aim at another, I hit it in its flank, sending the leaping wolf spinning sideways in the air. Hitting the hard ground, it immediately rolls back to its feet, bunching for another leaping attack. For a brief moment, we lock eyes, the hatred evident in the yellow orbs. Gathered for a continued bound, it yelps suddenly and turns to chew at its injured hind leg, as if the pain were delayed and only now felt.
Blood spots mar its mottled white and gray fur as the rounds of my second burst impact the front of its chest. The wolf whimpers from the forceful impacts and its legs give out. Empty shell casings ring on stone as the creature rises, blood dripping in long strings from the side of its mouth. It looks toward me, baring its red-stained teeth, the long canines menacing. With an almost human look of agony, it turns to stagger back toward the woods.
I turn and catch a leaping wolf as it sails through the air toward Denton. The bullets strike its side, altering it enough to carry it past Denton, who is firing at others in the rapidly closing pack. The speed at which they’re already in our midst is stunning. The tree line wasn’t that far, but it was distant enough that we should have been able to hold the pack off. Five minutes never seemed so fucking long.
The wolf hits and slides across the rocky surface, its legs already moving to find purchase. I lay into the trigger, the fur puffing with rounds finding their mark. Sparks fly from the stone as a couple of bullets hit just in front of the downed wolf, the ricochets finding purchase in flesh. My bolt locks back. Ejecting the empty one, I insert a fresh mag and hit the bolt release.
“Fall back to ledge behind my position,” I radio. “Lynn, keep the 40mm on the tree line, rake the plateau in front of us with 25mm.”
“That’s too close, Jack,” Lynn replies.
“It will all be a moot point if you don’t,” I reply.
“Standby.”
We need to tighten our perimeter as there are gaps in our fire. A very real possibility exists that we could be cut off from one another and surrounded. In my periphery, I see the two teams of Greg, McCafferty, Gonzalez, and Henderson backpedaling, their M-4s shouldered and firing bursts. Grabbing Denton’s shoulder, I nod toward the rear. “Time to go.”
Slowly moving backward, I keep sustained bursts of fire on those leaping through the gaps of fire, inching toward the ledge I know is behind. The smoke across the field has mostly cleared, drifting upward into the night air and dissipating. Streams of red rain down from above as Lycans are targeted, the bursts of fire merging with the ground. Dirt flies into the air from the impacts of 25mm rounds, the heavy thuds felt through the circling buzz saw sound. Red streaks fly off into the night, fading from sight, the whine of ricochets adding to the mix of noise.
Explosions dot the forest in rapid sequence, orange flames appearing and vanishing. But still yet, the wolves leap forth, winding around the explosions and gunfire stitching the ground. Some of the Lycans are leaping onto the plateau from the edges, but I’ve yet to see a sign of the Alpha.
With the others backing out of my periphery, I continue. The bursts of fire I deliver are no longer about taking down the bounding Lycans, but only to keep them at bay. A few managed to get close, like the one that nearly caught Denton. It’s really only a matter of minutes before we’re overwhelmed.
In my periphery, a blur of motion draws my attention. I barely catch sight of something large in the air coming directly at me. There’s no time to do much else except crouch before I’m hit hard from the side. I barely manage to get an arm up and then I’m flying sideways to hit the rocky ground, hard.
Skidding along the bare rock, the wolf is above me, snarling viciously as it attempts to get at me with snapping teeth. I hold its throat, thankful for the added strength from the Strigoi concoction. The Lycan’s head twists and turns, trying to find a way past my grip, the savage snarls and clacking teeth just inches away.
Trying to keep the jaws at bay, I reach down for my sidearm, having lost my grip on the carbine. Of course, a lot of good that would do now. Each violent twist of the creature’s head brings it closer, its hot breath pouring over my face. Saliva drips and flies from its mouth. Placing the barrel underneath the ferocious wolf my own size, I pull
the trigger twice, sending two 10mm rounds deep into the chest cavity. The creature growls fiercely and then yelps, turning its head to rear and side as it attempts to get at the pain.
Yeah, you don’t like that much, eh?
Moving the handgun underneath its head as it refocuses its attention on my throat, I fire. Empty casings clink as they bounce across the stone. Blood erupts from its nostrils as I fire again and again, turning my head in order to avoid the virus-tainted spray. Warm liquid splashes against my cheek.
After the sixth round into its head, the wolf goes limp, nearly two hundred pounds of furred flesh on top of me. Rolling the creature to one side, I roll to the other, trying to get my legs under me. On my knees, I see that another wolf is just a few feet away, growling as it bunches its muscles. It launches just as I’m getting my sidearm up.
I see the impacts against its side. Fur puffs from the multiple rounds, its trajectory altered as the forceful collisions push it to the side. Using my arm to assist it past me, I rise to my feet, putting additional rounds into the Lycan’s body as it hits the ground. Turning, I see McCafferty aiming in my direction. She then redirects her fire, adding it with the others toward those still closing in on the tightened perimeter.
I’m not sure how so many are getting past the barrage Lynn and the Spooky are putting up, but they are. I can’t imagine what would happen if we didn’t have that gunship support. This whole thing would have been over in seconds.
“Raven two minutes out.”
“We won’t be around in two minutes,” I reply. “Henderson, do you still have the rope we brought?”
“Affirmative.”
“Enough to reach the bottom?” I ask, rejoining the perimeter and firing.
“Probably?”
“Good enough for me. We need to get off this ledge. Tie it off on that big boulder near the edge and toss it over. Everyone else, keep him covered.”
