by Mark Tufo
“That is too far away.”
“Huh? What are you talking about, Bailey? An M-16 has an effective range of nearly a thousand yards, more if you know what you’re doing and maybe have a scope. Four hundred is nothing.”
Bailey’s head sagged.
“Oh, you guys haven’t ever shot that kind of distance, have you? Well, I’ll give you a lesson.” I brought my rifle up and rested it in between two of the pickets. I shot my first round to get an idea of where my bullet was going to go. Bailey and I watched as a puff of dust shot up twenty yards short and to the right of the first catapult.
“Are you attempting to clog their noses with sprayed dirt?” Bailey questioned.
I gave the front sight post a couple of more turns, then adjusted the rear sight for windage. She didn’t mock me when the next round was three yards short and just slightly to the right. The man at the lever arm to the catapult looked around. Another quick adjustment.
“This is going to suck for you,” I told him as I took in a breath and released it slowly. I had him centered in my peep scope as I lightly squeezed the trigger. My shoulder rocked back as the bullet was expelled. I looked over the sights in time to see the man stagger back, his hands moving up to his chest just as he fell over. Men rushed to him; and when they realized what had happened, they looked over to the wall at where we were. I waved.
I killed five more men in this manner before they got the idea that going near the catapults was suicide. The bombardment had stopped…for now. It was only a temporary reprieve. In a few hours it would be night and they would be able to shoot to their hearts’ content. They already had their range and didn’t need to see what they were shooting at anymore. Much easier to hit a town in the night than it is a person.
“I had no idea,” Bailey said with a look of astonishment. “I mean, I guess in theory I knew they could do that, we just never had the rounds to practice like that.”
“You’re right, it does take a fair amount of practice and a steady hand. You will find that some are more likely to pick up the skill than others, concentrate your efforts on them.”
I gave her the quick rundown on how to correct the sighting apertures and the bare bones basics of good marksmanship. She, in turn, grabbed twenty of the best she had and relayed the info. Me, you ask? What was I doing during all this instruction? I was playing God, deciding who lived and who died. The opposing army had mistakenly thought that being near the catapults equated to death. I gave them something more to consider. Merely being on the other side was reason enough. I killed twelve more men with long range sniping before they figured out to go to ground or hide behind something.
The ones on the ground were much more difficult to hit, I’d gone from aiming at a torso to aiming at a head. But the effects on the enemy were devastating. I was spraying their friends’ memories all across the ground. After a couple of minutes of this, those still on the ground and not behind an object hadn’t moved because they couldn’t. Funny thing about war, though, is that stuff needs to get done in preparation for it; weapons sharpened, food prepared and eaten, orders given, messages passed. An army cannot sit still for long. Slowly and tentatively, after a half hour of peeking their heads around corners to see if I was still shooting, one by one they began to come out of their respective hiding spots. I waited until I figured as many of them were out there as was going to happen before I fired again. This time I only took down two before they ran en masse.
The second man had only been wounded. It appeared that I had hit him in the knee. His leg looked like it was bent at an unnatural angle, but it was impossible to tell for certain from this distance. What I could tell was that he was screaming bloody murder for help. Arms would reach out from behind trees or carts, but unless they were Stretch Armstrong action figures they would not be able to bridge the twenty-foot gap to their fallen comrade. My intention had not been to set up a death lure. In fact, I was lining up a head shot to put the man out of his misery when the first of his friends, or maybe it was just a braver than smart fellow-in-arms, tried to help. He was leaning over and had come out from the left. Two shots later he was still; the only thing moving on him was the blood pouring into the ground.
The next casualty came from the right. This one was dodging and weaving, it helped him a little bit. Took me three bullets to put him forever on the ground. I didn’t feel good about what I was doing. Then I thought about it for a few more seconds and realized I didn’t feel bad about it either. Each one of them I took out of the equation was one less combatant. One less person trying to kill me, or more importantly, someone I cared for. I could almost use the phrase, “it’s not personal, it’s business”, I’m sure that would not go over well with the widows. Unfortunately, this wasn’t my first war with man. I’d long ago made a peace within myself for the morality of my actions in combat. This was just more of the same. I killed one more man trying to get to the injured party before someone had put an arrow into the first man I’d hit. That was hardcore, but it had to be done. Who knows how many lives he had saved by killing that one man? Odds were good it was Jangrut—he got it. It was he I needed to kill, so I began to formulate a plan. What? It could happen.
Chapter Eighteen – Oggie
Oggie had mistakenly thought that once Jayer, the alpha female, had agreed to help him find Talbot-man that they would immediately pick up the trail and head straight for him. After all, that was what he had been trying to do. But that was not the case with the pack. They traveled where the food was. If they happened to pick up a trail, then they would follow it for a bit before once again going out on a hunt. After a successful kill, they would return and follow the trail again before repeating the process.
Oggie learned quickly there was a strictly imposed hierarchy to the pack and just because he knew the alphas didn’t mean he was anywhere near the top of the chain. There were the alphas themselves and their offspring. Then the subservient adults or betas group, which even had its own structure, Cloud being the top ranked beta. Then came the omegas. These were the outcasts, old, injured or somehow hampered. Often times, they were attacked for no reason and tended to stay on the periphery of the group because of it. Next were the juveniles. These adolescents were almost largely ignored and would not be given any status until each one had rightfully earned it.
Somewhere between omegas and juveniles lay Oggie. He was mostly ignored, and if he was noticed, it was only to get a nipping on his tail or shanks. He did not share in the pack kills and would have been killed by the ravenously hungry juveniles if he even tried to get in on the remnants left over by the adults. Frequently, his kills were stolen from him. He was bigger than any of the younger wolves, yet five or six of them would often band together to steal his rabbits. He could do little to stop them. The adults would stop what they were doing to watch, as the young would prod for a weak point to exploit. They enjoyed the amusement of the life and death struggle.
Oggie began to hunt things he could eat in one bite or less. He missed the fat rabbits. Frogs, snakes, and mice were not his favorite meals, and the mice, because of their size, were harder to catch. He could feel himself getting weaker by the day. If they didn’t find his Talbot-man soon, he would starve to death by the time winter laid down its first blanket of snow.
This morning had started off like most, a larger juvenile named Beard urinating in front of Oggie, oftentimes getting the stream on his face. Beard’s friends would howl in laughter at the taunt. Oggie growled.
“Do something about it, dog,” Beard taunted, knowing that the moment Oggie made a move, his friends would help tear the dog to shreds.
Even with the threat of Jayer and Mane’s discipline hanging over them, they would be justified. Structure within the pack was everything, and anything that threatened that was dealt with severely. If Mane and Jayer wanted to stay in power, they would not be able to turn their backs on this most fundamental of pack laws. Oggie got up and moved before the running stream could contact his body. The ju
veniles jeered as the rest of the pack watched on with a lazy, distant deference.
Oggie had heard Cloud come back and tell Mane that a pride of boars had been spotted not two miles from where the wolves had rested for the night. A boar, if brought down, would mean more than enough food to sustain the pack for days. The wolves tended to shy away from the males, who could grow tusks close to a foot long and sometimes approached seven hundred and fifty pounds. A lone hundred and fifty pound wolf was no match for the beast. A pack could easily take down a younger boar, though.
“Let’s go,” Mane told his clan. His pack needed little motivation in a bid to stave off the constant hunger animals in the wild felt.
Oggie was compelled to go with them, he would not join in the hunt, because he would not be allowed to share in the spoils should they succeed. He’d learned that lesson on the second day with them when he had helped take down an old deer. He’d nearly had his flank ripped open when he tried to get some of the tasty venison. The juveniles had even defecated on the bones so that he could not chew on what was left to get some of the marrow that had been missed or was too difficult to get to.
The pack moved at a steady pace, not running, yet. They would conserve their energy for the chase, but they were eager to get to where the pigs had been seen. When the wolves had come out on a small ridge, they were able to get a view of the entire valley beneath them. Oggie had come out fifty feet away from the pack.
They’re huge, he thought. How could they possibly be killed? Even as he was wondering how it could be done, his mouth was salivating at the prospect of digging into the meat and fat rich animals. The wolves had pulled back so they couldn’t be seen. Oggie spun when one of the wolves nipped his tail.
It was Wounder, one of the oldest wolves the pack had ever known. He’d been the alpha male in his prime. When Mane’s predecessor had dethroned Wounder, he had lived on his own for five long years, many times on the cusp of death. He had come back two years ago and was allowed to stay by Mane, who figured he was not a threat to regain his title.
“As long as you help in the hunt, Wounder, I will allow you to stay,” Mane had told him.
At one time, Wounder would have ripped the belligerent wolf’s throat open for his insolence, but he had been so thankful to be part of the pack again that he’d crouched low with his tail tucked tightly under his hindquarters and thanked the alpha. Wounder was the only animal in the pack that treated Oggie somewhat kindly; he’d known all too well what it was like to be out on one’s own.
“Hide, dog. If the boars see you and the hunt ruined, the pack will take their frustration out on you.”
Oggie quickly retreated. “Thank you,” he answered but Wounder had already moved to get into position. The old wolf wasn’t fast enough to get in on the kill, but his skill and deftness with herding the intended prey was without rival. Mane would never let the old wolf know, but he was happy to have him as part of the pack, considering that the lessons the wolf taught the juveniles were priceless.
Oggie moved down the ridge with the wolves, careful to stay well behind them. The benefit this had was that the wolves riled up all the smaller animals that would bolt away from the pack, many times right into Oggie’s path. He’d just torn through a small chipmunk when he heard the howls of the pack in pursuit. The squeals of the pursued pigs were loud enough to hurt his ears. A fat squirrel that had been getting ready for what looked like a tough winter was barreling down the game trail towards Oggie. The dog wasn’t sure how the small rodent could have missed him standing there. Oggie could not let this boon go, as his stomach was already twisted in knots with the stabbing pains of hunger. If they didn’t find Michael soon, he would not have the strength to continue the search. He had no illusions that the wolves would help him in any way. He swiftly, but quietly, backed up off the path and behind a small tree.
Oggie quickly realized why the squirrel had not seen him. And even if he had, he might not have stopped his present course as he decided on the lesser of two evils. An adolescent boar was thrumming down the path, its eyes wide and ringed with white as two wolves trailed it. A beta named Rumble led the pursuit with Jayer, the alpha female, closely behind him. The boar was screaming in terror as he could feel how closely he was to becoming captured and eaten. Rumble had swatted his paw out, just catching the pig’s back foot, it was not enough to send the pig sprawling as he’d hoped. The pig stumbled but recovered quickly, and the chase was still on. Jayer had nearly pulled astride Rumble on his right side. What neither noticed (but Oggie had) was that something was crashing through the brush on their left side. Whatever it was, it was enormous. Thick trees were shaking as the monster bounced off them. Saplings and bushes were being pounded into the ground as the beast forged its own new path.
Jayer and Rumble were close to catching the young boar, but the behemoth behind them was gaining rapidly. Oggie had completely forgotten about the squirrel that had already zipped past and up the tree that he was standing next to. Oggie reflexively stepped back a couple more feet. The piglet was less than ten feet from him when a creature nearly the size of a horse broke through the brush and onto the path. Rumble had no time to dodge the tusk that was driven almost completely through his midsection. The force of the impact as the dying and whining Rumble was pushed into Jayer sent her sprawling. She cried out loudly as her back end struck a tree and twisted her almost completely around. The boar had pinned Rumble to the ground and was rapidly shaking his head from side to side, shredding the large wolf’s insides with his mammoth tusks.
When the wolf had ceased moving, the boar raised his head up, Rumble still impaled on his tusks. He then gave his head one more violent shake, sending Rumble’s lifeless form into the overgrowth. The boar’s red-rimmed eyes turned next to Jayer who was still attempting to shake the cobwebs from her head. When she realized what was happening, her first instinct was to turn tail and run—something she would have done had her foot not been entangled in the roots of the tree she had collided with. The boar lowered its head to line up its tusks. With its right front hoof, it dug at the ground, seemingly to get enough traction as it ran through another victim.
“What are you doing, Oggie?” Augustine “Oggie” Purpose had a moment of existentialism. Oggie began to bark vociferously at the boar. For a long, tense moment, he thought the boar was not going to pay any heed to him, at least not until it ended Jayer’s life. Oggie rushed in and bit at the boar’s flanks, quickly dancing away as the boar spun and leveled its tusks right at him.
“That was stupid,” Oggie said as he started to run, the boar right behind him.
More than once, Oggie felt his tail being batted around by the tusks. What happened next nearly defied explanation. Oggie could only attribute it to that mystical quality his Talbot-man sometimes called blind luck. The boar had swung his head again, this time the side of his tusk colliding with Oggie’s rear leg. The dog’s legs became entangled as his hindquarters struck the ground, spinning him backwards just as the boar was coming up on him. Oggie’s mouth had been wide open in a pant. The boar was slower to react to Oggie’s fall and was trying to halt his forward progress; it would take a moment for something with that much weight to come about. The boar’s neck was completely exposed to Oggie’s maw, which he savagely took advantage of. The boar squealed deeply in rage and pain. He rose up and twisted from side to side, the much smaller dog clinging to the boar’s neck as if his life depended on it—because, in essence, it truly did.
Blood pumped into Oggie’s mouth and down his throat, threatening to choke him, and still the boar raged on, jumping up and down, shaking violently from side to side and running. Oggie squeezed his jaws tighter. The boar’s breathing was becoming labored as Oggie tore into its windpipe. Oggie’s back was being dragged across the ground, his body completely underneath the boar now. He knew that if the boar just dropped down, he’d be crushed. The boar was too panicked to think clearly as its life was being taken from it one breath at a time. Oggie could feel
air leaking through the boar’s wounds. The beast was slowing down. Then, when it couldn’t get enough oxygen, it stopped running. Its breaths became rapid, ragged, wet things that could not deliver enough air to its tortured lungs.
Oggie bit down even harder as the muscles around the boar’s neck relaxed. The dog twisted so that he could get his paws underneath him, then moved to get out from under the huge pig. The boar had stopped moving completely, its eyes rolling up into the back of its head as Oggie pulled down on the neck, forcing the boar to its knees. The boar was shuddering violently in its death throes; Oggie was able to pull a large chunk of the neck away. The boar shook one final time and fell to the side. Oggie howled in triumph and had just caught his breath when the wolf pack caught up to him.
Oggie jumped up on the boar’s side. “He is mine! None of you will eat before I do!”
The wolves were torn, partly in awe of what the dog had done by itself, and partly for the feast laid out before them.
“How dare you deny the pack! We will kill you for this!” Cloud roared.
“Come forth and try, Cloud!”
Cloud looked from the boar to Oggie. He flashed his teeth but did not move forward. “You will deny the alphas their due?” Cloud questioned, trying to incite the rest of the pack.
“I am not part of the pack, Cloud, as you have attested to many times. Unlike you, I am subservient to no one!” Oggie roared. Cloud found himself reluctantly backing up. The wolves had completely encircled the kill. “I will eat my fill, alone, and when I am done, then and only then will I share. If any of you come in before that, I will deal with you swiftly…and it will not end well for you.”
Cloud was not quite ready to give up.
“Stop!” Jayer said as Cloud was getting two or three wolves to move in with him.
“He is denying you and Mane your due!” Cloud yipped.
