The Werewolf of Marines Trilogy

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  It was foolish to think that his failed attack could escape notice. It was bad enough that he moved against other lycans with humans in his attack force, but to have his force wiped out by other humans raised a hue and cry that bordered on panic.

  Bee kwato, he thought, borrowing the Pashto phrase for someone with no balls.

  Yet he also knew that those cowards would happily take off his head if they thought it would make their soft lives any safer. He was ashamed that this is what his kind had come to, to have such worms in charge of their once powerful tribe.

  Nikolai puffed out his chest and strode in, trying to portray someone without a care in the world, someone sure of himself. He hoped the stink of stress was not emanating from him. He immediately caught site of Günter Wais, sitting in an overstuffed chair, sipping on what had to be a single malt. It was Günter who had first approached him while he waited to be called before the Council to give his version of the events in Afghanistan. Günter had been one of Nikolai’s supporters when he asked for the go-ahead to attack the village, so Günter’s request was not too surprising. Nikolai was not attuned to the politics of the Council, a result of his ignoring it over the years, so any possible lifeline thrown his way had to be taken—after first assuring himself that the lifeline was not really a noose.

  Günter motioned for Nikolai to take the seat next to him. He sank into the chair, for once, happily taking in the deep, earthy smell of ancient, but well-cared-for leather. A glass of a single malt was on the small table beside the chair, and Günter motioned for Nikolai to take it.

  The heady, complex notes of the whiskey swirled in his nose, and he had to restrain himself from shifting so he could explore every nuance. Shifting in this club, however, was not quite verboten, but close to it. Shifting could be a signal for an attack, so members kept in their human forms.

  “So, Nikolai, it seems you fucked up pretty badly,” Günter said as he looked over his glass at him.

  Nikolai bristled at the comment, but he remained silent. Günter was one of the more powerful members of the Council, one who might be seeking the Prime Alpha position, if rumor had it right. Nikolai hated to take crap from another, but he needed to see where Günter stood and how that might affect him.

  “I had . . . a setback,” he responded non-committedly.

  Günter let out a low, throaty chuckle and said, “Yes, I guess you could call it that.”

  “We were surprised when the humans attacked with aircraft, so we withdrew before we could be exposed,” Nikolai said, wondering how much the Council knew about what had happened.

  “‘Before you were exposed?’ I would say losing almost all of your force was rather after-the-fact for that.”

  Hozan held his gaze steady as his mind reeled. Evidently, the Council was completely aware of how many had been killed.

  “So, Nikolai, what do you intend to do about it? The Council will want to know tomorrow, and I am curious as to what you are going to say.”

  “The feral tribe must be wiped out. They are a threat.”

  “I don’t know, Nikolai. It seems to me that your bungling is more of a threat than some quiet little tribe hiding high up in the mountains.”

  Nikolai stood up at that, hands clenching in anger. Günter merely sat in his seat, completely relaxed. After a moment, he flipped over one hand, pointing back at Nikolai’s chair. The fact that he was so at ease had an effect on Nikolai. He did not want to be submissive to anyone, but Günter reeked of alpha. He sat back down and tried to regain his composure.

  “Do you want a chance to get back at those who hurt you? I’m not talking about that primitive village, but the Americans, the military who conducted the attack?”

  Despite himself, Nikolai felt a surge. What did Günter know? Nikolai hadn’t even concerned himself if it was the Americans, Russians, or whoever who had conducted the airstrike. Did Günter know of the second attack, on the Afghan village, the one where two more of his tribe got killed, including his own sister’s son?

  “Would you be surprised to know that there is a kreuzung bastard, an unauthorized transformation, who is with the American military who attacked you?”

  “I would be very surprised, Günter. But what does that have to do with me? It was the air forces that attacked us, not a lycan.”

  “If that feral bastard led the attack, would that interest you?”

  “Yes, it would,” Nikolai answered in complete honesty.

  “This abomination should have been put down long ago, but he is the bastard seed of Nemir Muhmood’s son. Omar was about as warped as they come, a mad dog whose death was welcomed by many, but Nemir won’t let the order be given to remove his get. He’s pulled in favors to block any action, the correct action, I might add, due to his idiotic affection for his son’s only seed.”

  Ah, it is slowly becoming clear, Nikolai thought, sensing a way out for him.

  “Now, if you were to take care of this troublesome problem, I think I can gather enough support to subvert any action that might be taken against you. A favor deserves a favor, right?”

  He does want to be Alpha Prime, Nikolai realized. And this can help me.

  Technically, all Günter had to do was to challenge Mario Suarez, the current Alpha Prime. But without support of the rest of the Council, or at least a majority of it, his reign would be short-lived as lycan after lycan challenged him until he was killed. Nikolai knew that Nemir Muhmood was closely aligned with the Prime. If there was a conflict between the two other Council members, then weakening Nemir could only help Günter. Implied in Günter’s offer was that Nikolai would be in his camp when the time came.

  Nikolai didn’t give a rat’s ass who was Prime. He wouldn’t be here now if he hadn’t been summoned. But if Günter would make sure that Nikolai left Langerich with his head intact, then that was an easy deal to make.

  Günter made him uncomfortable. He knew that Günter’s “alphaness” was greater than his own, and he had to fight to push down the submissiveness that kept trying to surface. This was a feeling that both disgusted and frightened him. However, the pragmatic side of him knew that if he were valuable to Günter, then he would be safe.

  He didn’t buy the fact that this unauthorized kreuzung had anything to do with the attack on his people. He knew that Günter was just trying to manipulate him. But if that was the price to pay for Günter’s support, then it was an easy price, one that he’d have no qualms paying.

  “I think you are right. A favor does deserve a favor, and I would be more than happy to take care of your kreuzung for you.”

  Chapter 38

  Keenan opened his eyes and stretched. It was going to be a good day, he knew, and he felt up to whatever was thrown at him.

  Wait! What the hell? he wondered, sitting up.

  He looked around, confused. He certainly wasn’t back at the FOB. He was in a modern, well-equipped hospital.

  “Hey, where am I?” he asked a short woman in blue scrubs who was walking by.

  “Welcome back to the living, Major. You’re at SSG Heathe Craig Joint Theater Hospital,” she said, turning to step up beside his bed.

  “You mean at Bagram?[101]” he asked, still confused.

  “That’s right, Major,” she said.

  “Uh, how did I get here? What’s going on?”

  “You gave us quite a scare, Major. You were casevac’d here three days ago. I don’t mind telling you we didn’t think you were going to make it. You spiked at 108, and people just don’t come back from that. But Dr. Timmons took your case, and he was pretty aggressive, and, well, you’re here, looking at a full recovery. Now that you’re awake, I know Dr. Timmons is going to want to see you, so if you’re feeling up to it, why don’t I go get him, OK?”

  “Uh, well, yeah, I feel pretty good, actually,” he said as he realized he really did feel good.

  Better than good.

  He lay back down while the nurse hurried off as he tried to wrap his head around what had happened. The l
ast thing he remembered was being at the FOB aid station, sick with a fever. Kaas had come by and confirmed that this was the werewolf thing, the one that was supposed to kill him. He hadn’t bought into it. He’d been determined to fight it, but when the fever had hit so quickly, along with nausea and trembling, he’d been scared, pure and simple. He remembered Kaas rushing out, and then asking for something cold to drink. Then he remembered waking up here.

  Does that mean I’m not going to die? he wondered. Have I beaten it?

  Does that mean I’m one of them now? he asked himself as his train of thought went in the most logical direction.

  He looked down at his left hand. There was an IV shunt still sticking into the back of it. Other than that, it still looked like his hand. It wasn’t covered in hair or tipped with claws. He didn’t feel like a werewolf, not that he knew what being a werewolf felt like.

  Within a few minutes, the doctor arrived, trailed by two others. He picked up the chart at the end of Keenan’s bed, something Keenan thought was ingrained into every doctor’s DNA while at medical school. He glanced at it for only a moment before coming around and introducing himself.

  “Dr. Timmons, Major. It’s a pleasure to meet you, a real pleasure,” he said, leaning forward and using his fingers to open Keenan’s eyes wider so he could get a better view of his pupils, Keenan guessed.

  The doctor had a small Army lieutenant colonel’s patch sewn to his scrubs, which was odd. In Keenan’s experience, most Army doctors preferred the simple “doctor” to any rank.

  “I guess I have to thank you, sir,” he said before the doctor motioned him to open his mouth.

  After a quick look, the doctor stood back up. “Frankly, you were pretty far gone, there, young man. Another 20 or 30 minutes and you would have been in a body bag.”

  Nice bedside manner, Keenan thought.

  “But we got you into an ice bath, and started intravenous hydration and gastric lavage right there. I immediately suspected a massive infection from your previous injuries, but frankly, the cause was not important. We needed to cool you down, and you just weren’t cooperating. It wasn’t until we started hemodialysis that your temperature started to edge down.”

  “Hemodialysis?”

  “Yes. We took your blood out, cooled it, and sent it back in a constant loop. Not many hospitals stateside can do that, but here young man, that saved your life. It was still touch-and-go, though. It took over a day for you to get back to 103 and another day to get to normal. Frankly, I thought we’d saved a vegetable. Your brain function was erratic. Given how long your body had been at such extreme temperatures, it was amazing that there was any function at all.”

  There he goes with that nice bedside manner.

  “But you seem to have made a full recovery. More than that, there is no sign of the infection that caused the fever. We’ve sent your blood samples back to USAMRIID, but frankly, I don’t expect to get back anything surprising.

  Keenan knew about USAMRIID, the US Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases at Ft Detrick. He’d sent quite a few blood samples there himself.

  “We’re going to keep you here for a few days. I don’t want a relapse. Then you’re going home, Major.”

  “I feel pretty good, sir. I think I’d like to stay until the end of my tour,” Keenan told him.

  “Not going to happen, Major. Frankly, that’s what got you in trouble in the first place. You suffered a serious injury, and you should have been sent home. Sending you back to your FOB was almost a death sentence, and frankly, if you hadn’t made it here in time for us to do what we do, you would be dead now. No, you are going back, no matter what your command wants.”

  “My command got involved?”

  “They’ve been monitoring your progress quite closely. When I announced that you were out of immediate danger, we received a message that you were to go back to your FOB. I wasn’t having that, though. You’ve got some heavy hitters wanting you to go back, but I have my own. And frankly, with regards to medical issues, the Chief of Army Medicine outranks even a four-star.”

  A four-star? A four-star got involved?

  “So you, my friend, are going home. You’ll be stateside in three days, I would think.

  “Anyway, it was a pleasure to meet you while you were conscious, Major. I’ll be back to check on you, but duty calls,” he said, holding out his hand and shaking Keenan’s.

  “Frankly, thank you,” Keenan said quietly as Doctor Timmons left.

  That got a chuckle from the nurse, who hadn’t left yet. “Yes, ‘Dr. Frankly,’” she said. “He’s got a few idiosyncrasies, but he’s sharp, and he really did save your life.”

  “I didn’t mean anything derogatory. I’m grateful to him, all of you. I’m lucky to be alive, I know.”

  “No offense taken, Major. But now, frankly, duty calls for me, too. You’ve been pumped full of saline, but we need you to get some liquids into your stomach. You up for some clear soup?”

  Keenan realized he was famished. “I’d like a lot more than soup, if you would. Like a nice big steak?”

  “Take it easy, Major,” she said with a laugh. “Let’s start with the soup and then see how that goes down. Hold on, and I’ll get it ordered.

  Keenan watched her walk off, noticing the sway of her butt. He’d been at death’s door, but here he was wanting steak and feeling a physical attraction to a woman. He felt great.

  Maybe he really was a werewolf now. It was hard to accept, but something was going on with him. It could be simple euphoria at having cheated death, but something told him it was something far more drastic—and amazing.

  He needed to talk with Kaas.

  Chapter 39

  Aiden slipped off to his meeting point with Hozan, ready for a last trip to the village. The team received surprising orders to retrograde back to the US immediately. There was quite a bit of speculation as to why they were going back, but something had to be up. They had spent the last two days preparing, and they were leaving the next afternoon. This would be Aiden’s last chance to see his “tribe,” as he had begun to consider them. But there was something else he needed to tell Hozan, something surprising, but welcome.

  “Major Ward, he survived,” he told Hozan as he came up to his friend.

  For once, Hozan seemed at a loss for words. It took him a moment, but he managed to get out, “What? The sickness has passed?”

  “Yep! I just got word. Spec Sutikal, his assistant, looked me up an hour ago and told me. He’s completely recovered and heading back to the US,” he said excitedly.

  “I . . . that’s impossible. No one survives the transformation when it’s a kreuzung who bit him. Everyone knows that.”

  “Well, in this case, ‘everyone’ is wrong. He’s free and clear. And I’m his patron!” he exclaimed, holding his hand up for a high-five.

  “This is unheard of,” Hozan said, ignoring the proffered hand. “I should let the Council know.”

  “Uh, about that,” Aiden said, lowering his hand. “Well, you know, your vaunted Council isn’t too sure about me, so if you tell them about the major, I don’t know what they’ll do. Maybe we can keep this on the down-low?”

  “The ‘down-low?’” Hozan asked.

  Aiden sometimes forgot that Hozan was still learning English. The ability lycans had to learn languages was good, but that didn’t mean they could pull definitions for new words or phrases out of the thin air.

  “A secret. Not tell anyone.”

  Hozan considered this for a moment and then said, “Of course. You are right. This should be on the down-low for now, at least until we can understand this. I am pleased that your major survived, but I have to wonder if he’s been turned. He may never have the ability to shift. That has happened before to some. They survived the sickness, but were forever human. If your major is like this, if he can never shift, perhaps it is best if this is never mentioned.”

  “Oh, he’ll shift. He’s a tough son of a bitch. I just have t
o be there to help him,” Aiden said confidently.

  “We’d better get a move on, though. I’ve got reveille at zero-five-thirty, and I want to spend as much time at the village as possible. This could be the last time I see any of them.”

  Within moments, Hozan shifted and said in his guttural varg voice, “What are you waiting for, cub?”

  “Eat me,” Aiden said, stripping off his utilities.

  He triggered the shift, as always savoring the flood of smells that assaulted his nose. He stretched, sensing the power of his muscles. Despite many attempts, he hadn’t been able to make the full shift to a wolf. But even as a varg, he could understand the pull to stay in that body, to leave the human form behind.

  He lunged forward, hitting Hozan high in the chest, knocking the older varg down.

  “See if you can keep up, old man,” he said over his shoulder as he vaulted the FOB fence and ran off into the dark.

  Chapter 40

  Gorbat was nodding off as he sat in a shadow on the roof he’d selected as his post. Beneath him, the shopkeeper whose building this was slept with his family, unaware that Gorbat had taken over his roof. It was a two-story building, and it offered both eyes on the American base as well as the road leading east out of the village and up higher into the mountains.

  It was hard to keep awake, though, when he was on military duty all day. He had to remind himself of the importance of his holy mission. If he had to sneak off and catch a nap during the day, so be it. He wanted to be the best soldier he could, but his priority was as a shkaarzan.

  It was still early in the evening, too early to be falling asleep. People were in their homes, but light peeking out from shuttered window openings attested that most of the villagers were still awake. He shook his head to clear it and settled in for a long night, just like the last few nights. The weather was still warm, at least, even if there was a hint in the night air of the coming winter that would soon blanket the mountains.