by Mark Tufo
“Bad day at the office, Senator?”
Franklin nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice. It took him a moment to recognize Damien’s voice as his son slowly stepped from the shadows of the hallway. The sun had set while Franklin had his pity party. “Son. I didn’t hear you.”
“Obviously,” Damien deadpanned.
“What brings you by so early?” Franklin asked, trying to wipe away the evidence of his breakdown.
“Seriously?” Damien asked, sitting across from his father. “Well, I just thought I’d stop by and we could catch up on things, dad.”
“Oh,” Franklin replied, trying to straighten himself up somewhat. “Isn’t that nice? I’m so happy to see you, son. Would you care for a drink?” He stood and prepared himself a Jack and Coke.
“Got any O-positive?” Damien asked with raised brows.
Franklin startled, then paused. “You know that I don’t, son. But I do have a nice cognac.”
“Cut the chit chat already, will you? Did you get what you needed from Mitchell?”
Franklin froze. Mitchell? His mind began racing…Mitchell needs…he needs…he…needs drones. And a satellite to…be able to perform his mission. “Mitchell?” Franklin asked. “Mitchell? Mitchell needs…he needs…Mitchell needs drones, son.” Franklin turned around, his eyes desperate, “He has to have the drones or his mission will fail!” He slammed his drink down on the table.
Damien stared at him and then slowly raised an eyebrow. “You have got to be shitting me.”
“No. He does. He has to…”
“He got to you.”
“What?”
“Mitchell got to you,” Damien said, coming around the desk to stand directly in front of his father. He grabbed him by the face and stared into his eyes. “For shit’s sake. He brainwashed you, you weak-minded idiot.”
“What?!” Franklin was aghast. “You can’t speak to me that way, I am still your father!”
“Shut up and sit down!” Damien commanded. Franklin immediately sat, looking up expectantly. Damien chuckled. “I have no idea what they used, but apparently, you’re still under the influence.” Damien pulled out a cell phone. “Don’t move!” he commanded, pointing a finger directly in his father’s face.
He dialed a number and waited. “I need help. Mitchell got to him.” After a moment, “Yeah, brainwashed him. Cooked him. Probably chemical. I doubt he’s got a born vamp working for him.” Damien nodded, then turned and looked down at his father who was still staring straight forward. He shook his head in disgust. “Okay, I can do that. Be there in an hour. Thanks.”
Damien sighed and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. “Time for you and me to have a little quality father-son time, pop.” He picked up Franklin and laid him over his shoulder. Damien opened the second floor window and jumped down to the yard, gently touching down. He walked to the backyard fence and cleared it with a quick jump. Behind the house and waiting for Damien was a black SUV with dark tinted windows. He opened the back door and shoved Franklin in the back, then slipped in behind the wheel.
“No worries, old man. I know somebody who can get you back to your old self in no time. You’ll be back to your back-stabbing ways and kissing hands and shaking babies before you know it. Then we can get you back to bringing Mitchell to his knees.”
“Team Leader, this is OpCom actual.”
“Go for Team Leader.”
“We have eyes on the target. We’re uploading visuals to your portables. You’re not going to like this, Apollo.”
“Let me guess, Colonel. Rock troll?”
“Negative. We’ve got no record of anything like this one, Team Leader. I hate to say this, but you are on your own this time.”
Apollo turned to Lamb. “Looks like you’re out twenty bucks, Ron!” he yelled into the coms over the roar of the transport.
“Not a rock troll?” Lamb asked.
“Unknown type. They’re uploading visuals from the sat feeds.”
The squads all turned their wrists and tapped their uplinks. Pictures of the beast started downloading to their ruggedized PDA’s. It was approximately thirty-five to forty feet tall, naked and had three digits on each hand. It appeared to be covered in growths that looked similar to giant warts.
“If that don’t look like something from a B-movie,” Jacobs breathed.
“No shit,” Donovan added. “Check out that cranial ridge. Sumbitch is gonna have an armor-plated skull. I don’t know if depleted uranium could pierce that forehead!”
“DU rounds shoot through tanks, Donnie. You don’t think it will go through this guy’s noggin’?” Tracy asked.
“Maybe through an orbital socket, but look at how small those eyes are. They don’t stand still long enough for that kind of shot,” Donnie answered.
“Wonder how thick his skin is?” Popo pondered.
The yellow light came on indicating it was time to prepare to jump and the jumpmaster started getting them prepped and ready to exit.
“I’ll find out for you, Popo,” Padre said. “I brought my pig-sticker.” He patted his katana. “Never leave home without it.”
The jumpmaster had the jump doors open and their static lines attached. When the light switched to green, he started shouting to the squad, “Go! Go! Go!” and they streamed out of the plane and into the fading light.
As their chutes opened, each man scanned the night sky for his squad mates, then, when he was sure that all were accounted for, began scanning the ground for the monster in question. Each began negotiating his chute to bring him closer to the target, but Hank had a different plan. Trolls being stupid and slow to react, Hank intended to land on the monster. “Team Leader, Sierra 3, I need a distraction.”
Apollo wasn’t expecting anything this soon. The game plan was simply to distract the monster until the Apaches arrived and bomb the bastard into oblivion. “What’s your plan, Three?”
“I’m going to find out how thick this thing’s skin is. But I need you to draw its attention low with fire. Preferably while you’re still in the air and the moment you hit the ground.”
Apollo mulled it over a moment. It usually takes both hands to steer these chutes, but one could possibly handle the P90 and still maneuver for landing. “We’re on it. Team Leader to all squad members, concentrate fire low on the tango. Let’s give Three the distraction he needs.”
Apollo received numerous ‘Roger that’, ‘Copy Team Leader’ and ‘Affirmative’ replies. The moment they were within any kind of effective range, they opened fire. Hank had maneuvered his chute to descend slower than the rest in the hopes that he could come in high and then try to land on the monster’s shoulder. Instead, he landed square on the beast’s head, his chute collapsing over its face. Hank disconnected his chute while the beast was still trying to figure out why it couldn’t see and used his survival knife to bite into the side of its head and slide down to the shoulder. He popped a phosphorus grenade and shoved it as deep into its ear as he could, hearing a sickening sucking and pop when he pulled his arm free. It was covered in something disgusting that could only be described as centuries old wax, oil, and filth, and it smelled of dead flesh. Just as the first pop and hiss of the grenade going off was heard and the flash of light shone, lighting up the side of its head, Hank jumped, katana in hand.
He hit the sternum of the chest and sunk his blade as deeply as he could, then rode it down, but only a few inches. The beast’s skin was thick and tougher than saddle leather. Hank hung there a moment debating what to do. The beast had just plucked the parachute from its face when it realized that its ear was on fire. It had stopped stomping through the countryside and the squad was shooting up its lower legs…but as thick as its skin was, it was nothing more than a minor nuisance.
Suddenly the beast let out a roar and shook its huge head, trying to figure out what was biting its ear. It swung a slow, but mighty hand up and slapped the ear with a thundering clap that had to have ruptured an ear drum, and seemed to knock the
beast silly. It also shook Hank and caused the blade to cut down and through another foot or so of flesh. Hank renewed his grip and began to bounce on the handle of the razor sharp sword. With each downward bounce, the blade cut downward a little more.
The beast slowly recovered from slapping itself silly and shoved a mighty finger as deep into its ear as it could in an attempt to dig out whatever was stinging it. Its tiny eyes were squinted shut as it dug in earnest to dislodge the stinging nuisance from its ear.
Apollo directed his squad to spread out in a semi-circle around the front of the troll, concentrating their fire about the ankles and knees. Even the heavier M-4s with their heavier round were having no effect on the troll. The hide was just too damned thick. It was like shooting BBs at a bull. It might feel it, and it might make it mad, but you aren’t going to hunt down and kill anything with a Daisy air rifle.
“We have to keep this thing distracted or Hank is toast. Look for a tender spot and concentrate your fire!” Apollo barked.
Hank continued to bounce on his blade, and each bounce brought him closer to the ground, but he was still near the top of the beast’s great belly. Cutting through the chest was taking forever, and Hank was beginning to think that soon the effects of the grenade would wear off on the monster and it would notice another pest stinging it on its chest and use a mighty paw to swat him like a fly. He continued to bounce, faster and faster, the cuts coming quicker, but with less length. Soon he found himself at the roundest part of its pot belly and Hank feared that he wouldn’t be able to make the underside of the cut. He continued to bounce, his hands and arms beginning to feel the burn of holding his weight on the thin handle.
He dared to break his grip on the blade and keyed the coms. “Team Leader, target the cut! Target the cut!” He grabbed the handle of his katana again and continued his bouncing in earnest.
“You heard him, redirect! Redirect! I want a line of fire on that incision!” Apollo ordered, instantly, all the weapons fire was redirected with precision. The cut was barely an inch wide at this point, but their training and superior eyesight and reflexes had the grand majority of the shots hitting the mark.
Almost immediately he heard bullets ricocheting off the beasts hide near him. He closed his eyes and continued his bouncing until he heard a great ripping sound and he was suddenly free-falling through the air. When he hit the ground, he rolled as fast and hard as he could and rolled against the troll’s foot. Hank scrambled like made to get over the foot and away from the spillage that he knew must be coming.
He ran and jumped behind a natural berm, trying to catch his breath. When he finally turned and looked back, the beast was simply standing there, its intestines hanging almost to the ground; but very little blood below it.
“Son of a...” he muttered.
Over the coms he heard Apollo order, “Switch to frags.”
The squad members began lobbing fragmentation grenades into the hanging innards of the troll. As each grenade exploded, pieces of troll innards blew out, and then the fluids came. Soon there was a puddle under the monster. The troll, in its simple-mindedness, had no idea what was going on. It kept looking below it, wondering what this stuff was coming from its belly. When it tried to take a step, it literally got hung up on its own intestines and tripped, slipping in the gore.
When the troll toppled, the ground shook and trembled from the impact. Dust blew out in all directions and many of the squad members almost lost their footing. The troll wasn’t dead though, and tried to push itself up out of the gore. Tracy ran up with the M-4 and emptied two full magazines into the closest eye. He barely dodged a great hand that swatted at him, but he rolled out of the way in time. As the hand withdrew and settled back to try to push the troll back up, he ran back to the troll’s face, pulled the pin on a fragmentation grenade and shoved it as far into the destroyed eye socket as he could, then was lifted off the ground as the troll rose. He dangled momentarily before falling to the ground and rolling away. A moment later the grenade detonated and the troll staggered in mid-rise.
Smoke rose from the destroyed eye socket and the troll seemed badly disoriented. At first it tried to continue to lift itself, then one arm gave out and it tilted. Then the other arm gave out and it collapsed on its face, breaking a tooth and biting off a portion of its thick and meaty tongue upon impact.
The squad surrounded it, barrels trained on its head, carefully watching it. Looking to see if it was breathing still, but it appeared to be stopped. Donovan climbed up on its back and pulled a stethoscope out. He listened to the beast for a moment then shook his head.
“OpCom, Team Leader. Tango neutralized.”
“We see that, Apollo. Good job, son. Apaches are inbound and cleanup crews are en route.” He could almost hear the colonel smiling over the coms. “We’ll have transport ready for you boys inside the hour.”
“Copy that, sir.”
Apollo turned to his squad and gave them a thumbs-up. “Another Atta boy from the boss. Ride home is on the way. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em!”
“Right. Smoking isn’t good for your health, Apollo,” Hank said, wiping the troll blood from his katana.
“Neither is riding a troll without an approved saddle, Padre, but that didn’t stop you.” He gave him a wink and a smile.
“That has got to be a record, Colonel.” Laura turned from her console.
“Makes you wish we kept records of response reactions, doesn’t it?” Matt smiled.
“We never got a chance to use the drones, sir,” she observed.
“True, but there will be other times,” Mitchell responded. Looking about the room and the numerous techs making their notes and doing their related tasks, he nodded, “There will be plenty more opportunities.”
“Ahem, Colonel?” Evan had stuck his head in the door of the command center, “If the operation is concluded, sir, could I borrow you and Ms. Youngblood for a few moments?”
“Of course, Dr. Evans,” Mitchell stated almost too loudly. Even to Laura, it sounded ‘off’. She didn’t think they were fooling anybody who actually worked there, but if Matt insisted that they continue the charade, she would go along with it.
As they stepped into the hallway, Evan directed them back toward his lab. “I’ve found something that I think you might be interested in seeing.”
“Care to clue us in while we walk, doc? You know the whole science talk is over my head,” Matt admitted.
“Certainly, Colonel,” Evan began, “as you know, we have numerous samples of blood from different…umm…’donors’ that have been collected over the years.”
“Correct. This is what you were working on before you…well, before?” Matt asked.
“Yes. It is.” Evan smiled slightly. He found it odd that the Colonel found his incarceration more difficult to speak of than he did. “Anyway, sir, I may have found something that we can weaponize.”
Matt stopped in midstride. “A vamp-specific weapon?”
Evan smiled. “Not just a vampire specific weapon. A natural born specific weapon.”
Matt thought a moment. “So we’re talking one kind of vampire? That might not be so helpful, Evan—”
“No, sir. Not just vampires, but natural born vampire or natural born werewolf.” He sounded almost giddy. “And I’m not positive, sir, but it might also work on other creatures that can transfer their disease vectors, if there is a ‘natural born’ monotype, then there is a distinct possibility that the weaponization complex can work on the homogenous…”
“Okay, you’re losing me,” Matt said, shaking his head.
“Right. Okay. Like an eighth grader…gotcha.” Matt frowned at him as he continued. “If I’m right and we can get this developed into a working prototype and it actually works as expected, then it should work for natural born ‘anything’…vampire or werewolf. And if there are other monsters out there that have the same…umm…’virus’ in them like the vamps and wolfs, then there is a good possibility that it will work on the
m as well.” Evan was practically jumping up and down.
Matt was nodding his head. “Okay, Evan, I can see you’re really excited about this. But I thought that the whole ‘natural born’ thing was really rare?”
“Yes, but if you go by the legends, and let’s face it, so far the legends have been pretty darned spot-on, if the natural born creator dies, then all of their progeny dies along with them.” Evan was nodding his head, waiting for Matt to catch on. Slowly the light flickered to life. Laura’s mouth stood agape.
“Do you really think it possible?” Matt asked, incredulous.
“Very.” He was smiling from ear to ear.
“That’s great news, Evan. Keep us abreast of what you find.” Laura said quickly, then grabbed Matt’s arm and pulled him away, “What about the squads, Matt?”
“What about them?” he said.
“What do you mean, ‘what about them’? You can’t be that callous!”
Matt was honestly confused by her anger. “Explain yourself.”
“Matt, let’s say this thing works and we go off killing all the natural borns?”
“Then hooya, let’s do it!”
“And if we happen to accidentally kill the natural born that we extracted the virus from for the ‘augmentation’ for our squads?”
“So?” He shrugged. “Laura, they’ve never been allowed to transition. Technically, they aren’t ‘wolves’, therefore, no harm, no foul!”
“Bullshit!” she whispered. “That is complete bullshit and you know it. We prevented their shifting, but that doesn’t stop them from being what they are!”
“Remember your place, XO,” Matt warned. Laura stiffened and narrowed her gaze. “First off, if he’s right and this is all based on ‘legend’ then let’s just take a good goddamned look at these legends, shall we?”
“Fine, let’s do that.” She crossed her arms defensively over her chest.
“Where exactly did we learn about the wolf’s bane in the first place? The legends. And it worked. Do you remember the story? The woodsman that was attacked and took the wolf’s bane for two years to prevent the shift so that he could hunt down and kill the wolf that attacked him so he could break the curse?” Matt was red in the face. “Ringing any bells now?”
