The Werewolf of Marines Trilogy

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  “How considerate. Letting me know. I think when all of you disappeared, I would have known you had failed and lost your worthless lives.

  “So, Rustam,” he started, almost making the name sound like an insult, “why were you hit by airplanes? How did you screw up, and whose airplanes were they?”

  “Nikolai, I kept us a long ways from the Americans. It had to be them. They have a small base farther down the valley, and we could sense a small team in the area, but far away from us. We were careful, I swear it!”

  “Not careful enough, evidently. You had a simple mission, one even a half-grown cub could accomplish. You failed in it. You cost me 50 fighting vargs and more humans. More than that, you cost me my honor. That is unforgivable.”

  Nikolai stood up and shifted, letting his ishton fall to the ground. As he took his form, he felt his rage build up.

  Rustam squeaked like a mouse and immediately shifted as well, only his clothing, while loose enough to accommodate the shift, hung up on him, almost as if binding him to await Nikolai’s displeasure.

  Nikolai bounded forward at his hapless lieutenant. Rustam’s fear pervaded the room, and that excited Nikolai. Rustam immediately fell on the floor, back down, and tilted his head and exposing his throat, the posture of total submission, of total surrender.

  Nikolai felt the ingrained hesitation as some of his rage faded. His kind were hard-wired to accept this surrender, to accept their dominance over the other. It was simple species survival. If every disagreement ended in death for one, the Tribe would have disappeared long ago. With his total surrender, Rustam was saving his worthless life by acknowledging Nikolai’s complete and utter, well, almost ownership over him.

  Nikolai looked down at the exposed throat, and for a moment, he wavered. But he hadn’t gotten to the top by being weak. Almost every other alpha would have accepted such a submission, keeping his or her pack stronger by not diminishing it by a member. Nikolai was not every other alpha, however. He could override his genetic instincts.

  With an almost orgasmic thrill, he sank his teeth into Rustam’s exposed throat, tearing most of it out with one massive bite. Rustam’s blood filled his senses as it flowed down his throat. He felt invigorated, as if he was absorbing Rustam’s very essence.

  Rustam was dead—he just didn’t know it yet. His body jerked as his brain kept sending urgent messages to breathe, not realizing that most of his trachea no longer existed. What was left at the base of the throat was blocked with torn tissue and blood.

  There was still the spark of cognizance in Rustam’s eyes as he looked up at Nikolai. Even then, knowing his life was ebbing away, there was no anger, no fight in him. When he had surrendered, it had been total. Nikolai sneered at his soon-to-be-former lieutenant. That was the difference between an alpha and the rest. He would never have surrendered. Sometime in the future—the far future, he hoped—when some young varg challenged him, and they fought lycan to lycan, he would lose his life, but it would not be an easy victory for the new alpha. Nikolai would go fighting until the last, never giving up.

  Nikolai licked his fangs, tasting the blood. Almost casually, he reached out and put his hand on Rustam’s muzzle. Rustam stared at him through Nikolai’s splayed claws, surrender still in his eyes. Nikolai shifted his grip, putting his hand inside Rustam’s mouth. With a dying bite, Rustam could take off Nikolai’s hand, yet he didn’t. Somewhere deep inside of him, he wished Rustam could dredge up the gumption to bite, to prove to Nikolai that choosing him for one of his lieutenants had not been a mistake. But it was not the closing to Rustam’s jaw that he felt—it was Rustam’s tongue, softly licking his hand like some sort of dog.

  That rekindled the fire burning within him. With his knee on Rustam’s chest, anchoring him, Nikolai grabbed Rustam’s jaw and snapped it off. He flung the mandible to the side, then with both hands, took Rustam by the sides of his head and jerked the head off the flopping body. More blood arched in the air as he threw the head across the room.

  It was done. He slowly stood up, leaving Rustam’s quivering body where it lay. He looked to the others in the room. Not one of them caught his eye.

  Cowards!

  He’d made his point, though, and the knowledge that even total surrender would not save one of them from his wrath would spread through the remaining tribe.

  “Doniyor, you will now take over for Rustam. Do not fail me. Your first task will be to extract revenge for this. We let the Coalition and the Taliban play their games as long as they left us alone. Now, if they want to get into our business, that is their mistake. Find out if it was the Americans, and if it was, then hit them. Make them pay.”

  The stink of fear that had been radiating from Doniyor faded as he realized that he was not going to die, at least not just yet. He had to attack human soldiers, but that was a far better fate than facing Nikolai’s wrath.

  Nikolai watched Doniyor as he hurried from the room. On the floor, Rustam’s body had stopped quivering. Nikolai looked at it dispassionately for a moment before signaling to one of the others to clear it away. He could have let Rustam live, he knew, but part of being an alpha, particularly a long-living alpha, was to instill fear in his tribe. Killing Rustam helped buttress that fear among the tribe. Now, he had to instill that same kind of fear in the Americans. They would learn to leave him and his alone.

  Chapter 22

  SFC Jeff Douglas watched as his target stepped out and into the latrine, a roll of toilet paper in hand. This was going to be easier than he thought.

  Jeff was not the name with which he’d been born, nor was he a sergeant first class in the Army, but he’d had so many different identities in the past that it was like changing clothes, nothing more. It would do. The name and rank had gotten him on the resupply bird, where he’d delivered some real, if superfluous, papers to the FOB commander, and now he was free to perform his real mission.

  He waited a few moments, scanning the area. It was clear, so without hesitation, he walked up and slipped into the room. His target’s body armor was there on its tree, easily accessible. Jeff pulled it off and laid it on the floor, opening it to expose the inside. With an economy of motion, he slit the bottom of the fabric along the seam with his X-ACTO knife and then slid in what looked to be a thick piece of duct tape. It sealed easily to the back of the Kevlar panel. Using a small tube of a powerful adhesive, he closed back up the seam where he’d opened it. It wasn’t a perfect closure, but he doubted anyone would notice it.

  All of this took less than a minute, Jeff noted with satisfaction. His practice back in Kabul had paid off. He put the gear back on the tree and with confidence, stepped out of the room. It was better to move boldly than to open the door a crack and peek out. No one was in sight, so he turned to go to the tent where he’d been temporarily assigned. Half of his mission was over, and he had time to kill, so he might as well catch some shut-eye.

  He didn’t wonder about his target or what he’d done to have Jeff assigned to him. He tried never to think of them—any of his targets—as people. Usually, in this latest persona, he’d targeted Afghans and the occasional Pakistani or Uzbek, but as had been throughout his career, his targets had occasionally been Americans. Whether they deserved his attention or not was something he didn’t consider. He received his orders and acted on them. He wasn’t particularly pleased when his target was US military—long ago, he’d served a tour with the Army, first as a grunt and then with the Special Forces. But he’d had so many personas since then that it was hard to remember just who he really was at times. Whatever this guy had done was between him and Jeff’s handlers.

  It was mid-morning, and the transient tent was empty. Jeff pulled up his pack to use as a pillow and laid down. Within a minute, he was asleep.

  Chapter 23

  “What the hell?” Cree asked, pointing up to the ledge some 200 feet above them and 150 feet back as they marched down the trail. “That’s freakin’ amazing!”

  Aiden had felt their presence for
some time now, so he wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t worried, either. This time, the lycan spoor posed no threat, of that he was positive. Looking up to where Cree was pointing, he saw the three of them. He recognized Zakia immediately, and a thrill swept through him. He had to resist the urge to grovel like a pup happy to see its master come home. He didn’t recognize the two who stood behind and to each side of her, but they had to be from the village.

  “Holy shit!” Mike said as he looked up. “Look at the size of them. I thought the wolves here in these mountains were little things, no bigger than coyotes. Those look like timber wolves.”

  “There ain’t no timber wolves here,” Cree said. “There’s some big ones up in Russia, but that’s a long way away.”

  “Russia or not, those are some big mother fuckers,” Mike said. “It’s creepy the way they’re looking at us, though, like we are lunch on the hoof.”

  The team continued to walk on the trail below the lycans as the three of them silently watched the Marines. All of the Marines kept looking up, amazed at the brazen nature of the “wolves.”

  As Aiden came abreast of the lycans, the two behind Zakia stepped back out of sight while Zakia pushed her forepaws out and lowered her muzzle to the ground.

  “Did you see that? It’s like it’s bowing to us!” Cree exclaimed, louder than he should be while still out in Indian Country.

  “No shit, even the wildlife knows we’re the kings of this fucking jungle,” Rob said from behind Aiden. “I hope Brett gets that on his camera. I want to Facebook that.”

  Brett doubled as the team’s combat photographer. He was farther back in the column, but if he could see the lycans, he almost assuredly would be taking photos.

  Aiden wheeled around to look for Brett. He didn’t think having a photo of a lycan online, where some expert could see it and recognize something was wrong, was a good idea.

  Zakia had closed her eyes as she showed deference, but with her muzzle still down, she opened them and stared at Aiden as he looked back up at her. Despite the distance between them, he knew she was thanking him.

  How the hell she knew he had interceded for her tribe, Aiden didn’t know. There was still too much about his new life that he didn’t understand, so he wasn’t particularly surprised. He hadn’t planned on announcing what he’d done for them, but deep in his heart, he was glad they knew. He really, really wanted Zakia’s approval.

  As soon as their eyes met, Zakia pushed back up, spun around, and disappeared out of sight.

  “That was like on Discovery Channel!” Cree said, still looking up the cliff face. “Cool as shit!”

  It was pretty cool, Aiden thought, although none of his team would believe the truth of what had just happened in a million years.

  Chapter 24

  The team had been back for a day, and Aiden had delayed meeting with the major. He wasn’t quite sure how much he’d tell him. He’d never told anyone yet, not even his mother. Now, he owed MAJ Ward something. The question was how much he should reveal.

  He didn’t even think he could approach Hozan on it. Hozan was his friend, his confidant. Aiden had told Hozan about Zakia giving him deference, and while Hozan knew that Aiden had instigated the air strike, to him it was no big deal. As bright as Hozan was, as much as he acted as a mentor to Aiden, he didn’t have a clue as to the inner workings of the military and thought nothing of a grunt corporal calling in two Air Force birds, especially after the mission had initially been disapproved.

  Aiden had been on tenterhooks from the moment he got back, expecting to answer for what he’d done, but no one had said a word after the debrief. Evidently, the major had already blocked any inquiry into that. That still left the Army officer, though, waiting for Aiden’s explanation.

  He desperately wanted to know just how much the major, or the mysterious higher-ups, knew about him. He wanted to hold as much back as possible, but unless he knew what they knew, he had the potential to mess up pretty badly.

  Aiden squared his shoulders and pushed open the door to the major’s small office. Both the major and the specialist looked up as he came in, but after the major nodded at him, the specialist, whose name Aiden couldn’t get straight, got up and left the office. Aiden moved over and took his seat. He sat there a moment, trying to gather his thoughts.

  Finally, he just said, “I have to thank you, sir, for getting that air strike. You saved a lot of people with that.”

  Well, werewolves, he thought.

  “I put my ass on the line for that,” MAJ Ward said. “I trust it was worth it?”

  “Yes, sir!” he answered hurriedly. “It was a righteous mission, one that was needed.”

  It might have been his unrehearsed earnestness in his reply that the major saw, because he waited a moment, then nodded, seemingly accepting his statement at face value—for now, at least.

  “So . . .” the major said to a pregnant pause.

  “Um, sir, I know I told you I had something to say. It’s hard to explain it though, and even harder to believe. There’s this program, sir, an experiment, some sort of super soldier thing. I don’t think I’m supposed to tell anyone about it, only that I get tested and stuff. I don’t even know who else is in the program. All I know is that sometimes, I feel like Superman. I’m stronger and faster than I was before, so I think this experiment is working. I think the best thing to do would be to show you sometime, so you can see. But I’ve got to ask you, sir, to keep this quiet. They told me this was Top Secret.”

  Fuck, that sounded like bullshit, Aiden acknowledged to himself as he looked intently into the major’s eyes to see if he’d bought it.

  MAJ Ward was emotionless as he stared back at Aiden. “And when did this experiment take place?”

  “After I got wounded, sir. I wasn’t too gung ho, then, sir, and not that great of a Marine, to be honest. I think they wanted to take me because anything would be an improvement.”

  Aiden was glad he’d rehearsed that answer. He thought by criticizing his former self, it might sound more real. Not many Marines went around talking themselves down to others.

  “So you can’t talk about it, but you can show me?” the major asked.

  “Well, sir, no one never said nohow I couldn’t show anyone, just not talk about it. So, maybe I can do it first, then ask permission later.”

  Aiden waited anxiously to hear the major’s response. Would he buy it? Did he know more, and was about to call Aiden out on his fantasy story?

  “OK, there corporal, you’re on. You set the time, and we’ll see what you can do.”

  Chapter 25

  Private First Class Jordan Lestair kept watch, scanning the approaches to the little Godforsaken collection of huts that served as a village in the Hindu Kush. He was a trunk monkey[95] for the mission, manning the Humvee’s .50 cal Ma Deuce. With Corporal Chris Lin, they comprised the security element responsible to the east of the village. Larry and Ponce were in another Humvee on the road leading to the northwest out of the village.

  There was an ANA platoon also providing security, but Jordan not only didn’t give them much credence, he also actively did not trust them. There had been too many green-on-blue attacks in the country, and Jordan spent most of his time surveilling them as well as the small ANP guard shack with its three ANPs. The Taliban were more obvious targets. They came at you, and you shot them. The ANA and ANP would turn on a soldier in a second, switching from so-called friend to enemy.

  Behind him, the rest of the platoon was in position to secure the small hut where the captain, the lieutenant, and some other O[96] from battalion were conferring with the village elders. They were probably sipping tea and acting like the hajji’s best friends, even though everyone knew they were all Taliban. Second platoon had taken fire from around here only two weeks ago, and now, everyone was acting like best buds.

  Jordan shook his head. He was infantry. He hoped to become a Ranger. His job was to kill the enemy, not play footsie with them. He was glad that was left to t
he Os.

  “How much longer are they gonna be?” he asked Lin.

  Lin was somewhat of an asshole, but he was a proficient asshole, and for Jordan, that made him a good partner when out beyond the wire. He could count on Lin.

  “Fuck if I know,” Lin said from below him from the Humvee’s driver’s seat.

  This was supposed to be a two-hour powwow, but it had already stretched out to four, and dusk was closing in. There was a good chance that the captain would have them bivvy back down the jumbled dirt road they’d come up for the night rather than try and make the two hours back to the FOB in the darkness. The road was barely more than a trail, and in some places, going off it meant a long fall down the mountainside.

  “Everything OK?” Staff Sergeant Galloway asked from behind the Humvee.

  Galloway was Jordan’s squad leader. Most of the squad was situated around and on the roof of one of the huts, but with Jordan and Lin out front, he checked on them every 30 minutes or so.

  “Nothing much happening,” Lin said, a second too soon.

  While Jordan was watching, a dark shape bolted into the ANP guardshack. Before whatever it was could register with him, shouts and an unearthly growling erupted from inside the flimsy wooden structure. The shouts turned into terror-filled screaming before being cut off.

  “What the fuck?” Jordan asked as he swung his Ma Deuce to cover the shack.

  Something big and round flew out of the opening in the guard shack that served as a window. It hit the ground and rolled as Jordan instinctively covered it. As it came to a rest, the flat, unseeing eyes stared out from the decapitated head that had been attached to the rest of the ANP’s body only moments before.

  The hajji soldiers in the ANA squad who were just back from the guardshack jumped up and stared dumbly at the head. One or two started edging back towards the center of the village when a soul-shattering howl filled the night, quickly joined by another.