Evidently, the first shift to a werewolf—fucking A, I’m sitting here quietly accepting that they even exist as if nothing was weird about it—was quite difficult, and the local werewolf had helped him. From there, like a newborn, he had to practice to become better at shifting.
Kaas went over some of the fights he’d gotten into, including the one outside of Ramadi that had caught his attention again, the one that had ended up exposing Kaas’ blood to the colonel’s testing. Even as a werewolf, that sounded like a serious fight, and the Apache that took out a couple of the Al Qaeda could just as easily have taken Kaas out, he thought. An Apache could take out a tank, so he doubted a werewolf could stand up to one.
The narrative shifted to Afghanistan, and when Kaas explained about the air strike that Keenan had authorized, that opened up an entirely new field of questions. There were werewolf villages out there? And others attacking them? Keenan hoped he’d been on the right side with the air strike, but that could wait for later.
Finally, Kaas’ story got up to where Keenan was hurt. The corporal was getting visibly agitated, which struck Keenan as odd. The Marine hadn’t been hurt; Keenan had. Keenan still wasn’t sure why he’d been targeted, but his suspicions kept reaching back to the Pentagon. It didn’t feel right for having been a green-on-blue attack.
“You were so fucked up, sir, and Doc, he said you weren’t going to make it, so I, well, I kind of bit my tongue, and then I spit my blood into your stomach,” he said in a rush, anxious to get it all out.
What the fuck? He what?
“You spit your blood onto my wounds?” Keenan asked, flabbergasted.
“I’m sorry, sir. I just thought you were gonna die, and well, we can heal ourselves of most injuries, and I hoped maybe my blood could help you. I thought it was your last chance.”
“So, you spit blood inside of me?” he asked, looking down at his belly as if he could see inside the mostly healed wounds. “What possessed . . . uh, is that normal for you, uh, people?”
“I don’t know,” the corporal said miserably. “I just don’t know. Hozan said it couldn’t have made any difference. But maybe he’s wrong, you know? You were really fucked up. Ask Doc. But when you got to the aid station, it wasn’t so bad.”
Keenan got the feeling that Kaas was grasping at straws. And there was something else there that Kaas wasn’t saying. Keenan wondered what it could be when it suddenly hit him.
“You put your blood into me? And that should be more effective than just like a bite, like what happened to you. So now, you’re going to be my patron? I’m going to be one of you?” he asked, excitement building despite himself.
Keenan had never felt stronger, despite having his gut blown open. He put that down to drugs, lots of drugs, but was there something more to it? The more he thought about it, the more he was sure he was right.
If anything, Kaas seemed more miserable than ever as Keenan said that. Keenan didn’t understand why unless maybe there were werewolf rules on who was able to join them.
“Is that it?” Keenan asked. “Am I right?”
“Sir, that’s the thing. I told you I’m a kreuzung, right? I’m not a blood. Only a blood can transform someone.”
Keenan felt his heart fall. He wasn’t sure why he was so disappointed. It had only been a flash of excitement, nothing he’d expected, yet he somehow felt that something had been yanked away from him.
“So, no werewolf for me,” he said, trying to make light of it. “Your blood might have helped me, so it’s sort of like a transfusion. Nothing weird. And if it helped, great. Now, it’s back to normal.”
“Uh, not really, sir,” Kaas said.
Something in the corporal’s voice grabbed Keenan’s full and undivided attention.
“What do you mean?” he asked not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“I have the seed, sir, like any of the Tribe. It wants to transform you, and it’s going to try. But, sir, it’s like this. My blood, the part that makes me different, well, it’s like a copy of that in a real werewolf’s blood. It works for me, but it’s a little off. A blood’s seed is pure—mine is not. And it’s not pure enough, I guess you could say, to win a fight with the T cells. Your T cells are gonna win.”
“So, my immune system wins. No biggie. It wins against the flu, too.”
“You don’t understand, sir. When the seed gets destroyed, it sort of self-destructs.”
“And . . . ?” Keenan asked, now positive he didn’t want to hear the answer.
“And it poisons the body. You can’t survive it.
“I’ve killed you, sir!”
Chapter 35
It was only a few hours later that MAJ Ward first complained of a headache and then before he could make it to the aid station, collapsed. Aiden heard about it and rushed to the aid station only moments after the major had been carried in. The medic attending the major was about to shoo him away, but MAJ Ward saw him and asked for him to be allowed to stay.
The medic looked at Aiden with disapproval radiating from his eyes, but he nodded and pointed to a small folding stool near the head of the gurney on which the major lay, an IV already pouring fluids into his arm.
The doctor came up looked at the major’s chart, then told him it was probably an infection resulting from his recent wounding and surgery. He ordered a full range of antibiotics and told the medic he wanted the major monitored closely. If his fever didn’t come down, he wanted the major to be put in an ice bath.
“Is this it?” the major quietly asked Aiden after the doctor left.
“Maybe, sir. I don’t know, though. I was out when it hit me, and you’re conscious, so maybe the doctor’s right. Maybe it is from your injury.”
The major leaned his head back on his pillow. “I don’t think so. I can almost feel my body coming apart. How long do I have?”
“Hozan, he’s the one I told you about, he says one or two days.”
“Well, fuck,” the major said when he heard that before falling quiet.
If Aiden thought the major was giving up, his next words dispelled it.
“Your Hozan is wrong. You survived, and so will I,” he said with conviction.
Specialist Sutikal arrived, still in PT gear, his blade prosthetic gleaming in the aid station’s lights. He glared at Aiden as if he blamed him for the major’s condition. Aiden wondered if and how much the major might have told his assistant about him.
A nurse and a medic came up, ready to administer the doctor’s orders, so Aiden quickly told the major he’d be back. He slipped out of the aid station, then went to the DFAC to find Hozan. He found his friend in the pot shack, as usual.
“It’s started,” Hozan said before Aiden could say anything.
“Yes. Major Ward’s in sickbay now. He’s got a fever.”
“It is only a matter of time, now. It will be over soon,” Hozan said in a calm voice.
“Uh . . . can you . . . I mean, I’ve been thinking. What if, you know, what if you bit the major? I mean, you’re a blood, so your seed could transform him, couldn’t it?”
Hozan stopped scrubbing the pot in his hand and seemed to consider it for a few moments. After a few moments more, he shook his head and went back to cleaning.
“No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no!’ Why not?” Aiden asked, grabbing Hozan by the shoulder and spinning his friend around to face him.
Hozan seemed to bristle, and for a moment, Aiden thought he was going to shift. Hozan took a deep breath and slowly reached up to grasp Aiden’s wrist and pulled Aiden’s hand off his shoulder.
“First, it is forbidden. It takes Council approval to transform a human,” he said, holding up a hand to cut off Aiden’s protest.
“Second,” he continued, “it just isn’t done. I’ve never heard of two of us infecting the same human. If we could, it would have been tried before.
“Third, it is too late. It would take my seed a week or more to gain the strength needed to start a transformat
ion, and by then, your major would be dead. I’m sorry, Aiden, but it won’t work. You have to accept facts.”
Aiden wanted to argue. He didn’t give a flying fuck about the Council. No one gave any permission for him to be turned. But the logic on the timeline sunk in. He had to accept that.
Without another word, he turned and left to go back to the aid station. At least he could give moral support.
“Hey, how is he?” Cree called out as Aiden walked by oblivious to those around him.
“Oh, not good,” he replied. “The doctor says it’s an infection from where he was blown up. I’m going back to check on him.”
“Look. We give you shit about the major, and we still don’t know what’s up between you two, but the guy’s righteous, and it ain’t right that he’s fucked up after all that’s happened. Some of the guys, well, we’re going to stop by in a few, OK?”
Aiden was surprised at the offer—and touched. His team, his family here in Afghanistan, was there for him. “Sure, that would be great.”
“Take it easy, bro. See you in a few.”
Aiden walked back to the aid station and up to where they had the major. MAJ Ward was no longer conscious.
“He went out a few minutes after you left. He said something, like not blaming you?” Spec Sutikal said as Aiden came alongside the bed. “What did he mean?”
“Don’t rightly know. He did tell me that he was here to watch me,” he said, sure that Sutikal at least knew that much. “Stupid goose chase, if you ask me,” he added.
With that, Aiden took a seat on the small stool, knowing he was doing no good, but wanting to be there anyway. Cree, Manny, and Doc found him there fifteen minutes later. The three took over the empty bed next to the major’s, quietly chatting about inconsequential banalities. It wasn’t important what they were saying, only that they were there.
When the major went into seizures, everyone jumped up and got out of the way of the medics and nurses. Within a few minutes, the seizures stopped, and the medical staff cautiously stepped back.
“Get Doctor Hildago,” one of the nurses told a medic.
Aiden watched the major, almost expecting the man’s breathing to stop when he felt eyes upon him. He looked up, and as the medic pushed open the doors to go get the doctor, Aiden saw the ANA lieutenant, the one Hozan said was some sort of hunter, standing there, looking in.
“Hey, Cree, do me a favor, OK?” he asked, turning away from the Afghan.
“Sure, bro. What?”
“That fucking ANA lieutenant out there, he’s just staring at us. And you know, someone tried to kill the major. I’m getting a bad vibe about him.”
Cree looked up, then without saying anything else, stood and strode to the door, Doc following him. He pushed it open and confronted the lieutenant, Doc at his side. The medical staff craned their necks for a moment to see what was going on and then looked back at their patient, leaving whatever grunts wanted to do to the grunts.
The ANA lieutenant looked back in through the open door at the major, then wheeled and walked away. Cree and Doc came back and sat down.
“I bet it was that fucker,” Cree said. “I don’t trust any ANA, but especially him.”
Just then, the major went into another seizure. Aiden jumped up and helped the staff hold him down, waiting for the doctor to return.
What is keeping the guy? Aiden wondered, fearful of the major’s rigid, writhing body, but more fearful that it might stop. With the seizure, at least Aiden knew he was still alive.
When the doctor finally arrived, he was quick. He ordered the waiting casevac bird to turn rotors. He wanted the major back at the brigade aid station. Within ten minutes, the major was being taken out to the Black Hawk.
Aiden followed, stopping at the edge of the helo pad. He watched the major being loaded, and then the helo lifted off. Within seconds, the bird was lost in the darkness. The major was gone.
Chapter 36
Lomri Baridman Gorbat Wafa Khan eased back in the shadows. The American base was more open than a mountain village, and that didn’t suit him, but he would have to make do.
The scene at the American hospital troubled him. Something had been off there and had sent his senses tingling. He was sure he’d been looking at a wargalewa, but with so many men there, which one was it?
The fact that the wargalewa was American gave him only the slightest pause. His ancestral duty transcended all else. Allies or not, the spawn had to be eliminated. He knew he might have to disappear once the job was done. The Americans had long memories, and they would not stand for one of their own being killed, even if they knew what it was that wore their uniform.
After being chased out, Gorbat waited outside the hospital, trying to open his senses. The longer he waited, the more confident he was that a wargalewa was inside. After fruitless years, he was finally going to get his chance to prove himself for a second time in less than a few weeks.
When they brought the American jagraan[100] out and loaded the wounded man on the helicopter, Gorbat stared at each of the figures, looking for clues. He didn’t think it was one of the medical soldiers. A wargalewa would not be helping others. No, it had to be one of the fighters. These fighters were Marines, he had found out. He didn’t know the difference between Marines and American Army soldiers, but some of his men had told fanciful tales of how fierce and cruel they were. Yes, a wargalewa would gravitate to such kind.
The Americans watched the helicopter lift off before breaking up and wandering off to wherever they were going. The one who took most of Gorbat’s attention, the one he thought might be the creature, split from the rest and disappeared between the plywood buildings 20 meters from where Gorbat stood in the darkness.
This was his chance!
Giving praise to Allah for his luck, he hurried across the open area around the landing pad and ducked down the same path as his target. His pulse raced with excitement. He was honest enough to know there was a bit of fear there as well. That did not bother him. Any sane man would fear these things. It was how a man confronted his fear that determined his status. Gorbat would not falter.
For a moment, he could not see anything and wondered if it had known he was on its trail and was lying in wait. But no, up ahead, it was walking confidently.
Gorbat reached into the small pouch he carried around his neck and pulled out the wide silver ring that was an essential part of any shkaarzan’s tools. It gleamed in the moonlight as he slipped it on. Gorbat couldn’t see the ancient inscriptions, put on the ring before the time of the Prophet, but they were imbedded in his memory. He didn’t know their meaning, but he could picture each curve and angle of the inscriptions in his mind.
He hurried forward, closing the distance. He focused on remaining silent. Surprise was a must. The creature was whistling, which was to its detriment. The sound helped mask Gorbat’s approach.
He closed his left hand on his pesh-kabz, readying it for the strike. He would rather use his clean hand for that, but his ring had to be on that hand for it to have its full effect. No matter. He’d practiced often enough with his left to still be quite deadly with it.
He came up behind the creature, looking for bare skin. Not much was exposed. Making his decision quickly, he reached out with his right hand and took the thing by the wrist, pulling it around as he brought up his pesh-kabz to be ready for the killing blow.
“Watthefukudooin?” the American said. “Eyelfukinkillyoo,” he added, pulling his M4 up at the ready.
Gorbat immediately pushed the pesh-kabz into its sheath. This was not the creature. His silver ring had no effect on the man. Yes, he had the single eyebrow that could be a sign of a wargalewa, but some humans had that, too. He’d been aggressive back at the hospital, and he’d had the sign, but he was human.
Gorbat didn’t understand what the American was shouting. He knew what “fuk” meant, something his men had adopted, but the tone of the man more than conveyed his anger.
“Sorry,” Gorbat
said in his broken English. “Where food?”
“Shit,” the man said, using another word his men had quickly adopted. “Yoorgonnagityurselfkild,” he added, but pointed back to where the dining hall was located.
Gorbat gave a half-nod, then stepped back. He had come close to killing the man, but even if the Americans were not his people, Gorbat was not a murderer. He would kill, but only when justified.
Somewhere in this camp, a wargalewa roamed, and he was going to kill it.
Chapter 37
Nikolai got out of the BMW, ignoring Akram, who he’d brought along as his driver. Well, bodyguard, too, not that one bodyguard would make much difference if the Council wanted him out of the way. Unfortunately, he couldn’t bring Akram with him into the small, unobtrusive house that served as a club for some of the Council members. Nikolai had to go inside with an air of someone in power, someone unafraid.
Nikolai took in a deep breath of air, playing the scents in his nose. He hated coming to Germany, which was why he avoided most Council business. Langerich was supposedly in the country, but even to his human nose, it stank of machines and hopelessness. Why the Council insisted on having its headquarters in the middle of a human industrial cesspool was beyond him.
Nikolai subconsciously pulled down on the back of his western jacket as he entered the club. He could feel his pulse rising. Nikolai had been an alpha for over 40 years, and he’d faced many threats over that period of time, but deep inside, he knew what he faced now was far more serious than anything else he’d overcome.
The Werewolf of Marines Trilogy Page 36
