by Dave Edlund
Todd continued to fire deliberately as Gary and Peter reloaded. Hamaad had no spare ammunition, but he did have his machete.
The Homothals progressed relentlessly, returning fire with their rifles. The boulders were providing good shelter for Peter and his team, leaving the Homothals at a disadvantage. Since they were constantly climbing, they had no ready cover.
“I’m hitting them, but they aren’t staying down!” Peter exclaimed.
“Maybe they’re amped up on drugs?” Todd suggested, still believing these were ordinary soldiers. Then he poked his head and rifle around the edge of the boulder and fired, striking a Homothal in the chest. He watched for a brief moment as the figure fell backwards and struggled to its feet, slowly regaining momentum.
“Their bodies must be full of adrenaline!”
As Todd pulled back, Peter ventured to look through the gap between the boulders and saw two Homothals, one limping, trying to work around the boulders. They were only fifteen feet away, and Peter had a full magazine of seven rounds. He aimed and fired—the bullet clearly struck home, yet the Homothal barely registered being hit. Peter fired again at the same figure, and still the Homothal hardly showed any physical response from the impact of the bullet.
The two figures remained on track to flank the boulder and their position. Peter raised his sights and fired a third time, this time striking the Homothal in the head. It fell, dead. Quickly, Peter fired at the head of the second Homothal—the bullet struck low, in the neck. It howled in pain, sounding more like a wild animal than a man.
Peter shivered involuntarily. The howl caught Gary’s attention, and he aimed for the wounded figure and placed a round through its forehead.
“That’s four down,” he said.
But there were still two Homothals charging up the hill, and they were quickly upon Peter’s position. They rounded the boulder and faced Gary. At this angle, Todd was now at the rear of their position with Peter, Ethan, and Hamaad in between. Todd couldn’t get a clear shot with his friends in the line of fire.
When the first Homothal emerged from behind the boulder, it was immediately upon Gary. Staring directly into the yellow-orange eyes of the creature, Gary reflexively pushed the muzzle of his pistol into the creature’s belly and pulled the trigger.
The .357 magnum revolver roared and kicked back, raising Gary’s hand. Yet the Homothal remained standing. Gary pulled the trigger again and there was nothing but a soft metallic click—the sound of the hammer falling on an empty cylinder.
The Homothal raised its rifle and struck Gary across the face with the butt, knocking him to the ground. His body lay motionless as blood flowed from his nose and mouth.
Rushing to Gary’s defense, Hamaad pulled the machete from its sheath and lunged toward the Homothal that had struck his American friend. But the second Homothal, anticipating an attack, had moved to the side and fired a short burst. The rounds hit Hamaad in the chest; he was dead before his body hit the ground.
“No!” screamed Peter, a wave of rage washing over him as he watched Hamaad’s chest shredded by the rifle fire. He raised his Colt pistol and fired rapidly, not really needing to aim at this close distance. There were only three rounds left in the magazine and all three hit the Homothal that had shot Hamaad. The creature stumbled backwards but stayed on its feet.
Peter drew his arm back in frustration and anger and threw the heavy pistol at the Homothal. The gun bounced off its chest.
Now it was the Homothal’s turn. Sneering, it moved the barrel of the assault rifle toward Peter.
BOOM! The explosion was deafening, and Peter felt the muzzle blast from the Barrett rifle Todd had just fired from behind. The massive rifle bullet, traveling at almost 3,000 feet per second, shattered the Homothal’s chest and propelled it backwards with its lifeless arms splayed out.
The Homothal that Gary had shot leapt forward despite its wounds, knocking Peter to the ground. Todd, who was eight feet behind Peter, tried to maneuver the long and heavy sniper rifle to get a shot into the attacking creature. But he couldn’t move the muzzle of the rifle quickly enough. He fired, but he immediately knew the round had missed. Adjusting, Todd pulled the trigger again, only now the magazine was empty.
The Homothal barreled into Todd, knocking the rifle from his grip. Todd remained on his feet and swung his right arm, planting a solid blow into the Homothal’s face. It merely shook its head lightly. The Homothal, still gripping its own rifle, swung the butt up to catch Todd in the chin. The blow lifted him off his feet and sent him sprawling to the ground. The Homothal raised its rifle, intending to bash in Todd’s skull.
Ethan hadn’t attracted any attention since he wasn’t shooting—his rifle was empty. He was behind the Homothal as it stood over Todd’s prone body. Using the only weapon he had, Ethan gripped his rifle by the barrel and swung it like a bat with all his might, striking the Homothal across the shoulder, causing it to drop the Chinese-made assault rifle. The scope on the Barrett shattered from the impact, but the Homothal remained upright. Slowly the creature turned to face Ethan—the yellow-orange eyes boring into him.
Ethan recognized those eyes. He had glimpsed them back at the aid camp when they were under attack. Driven by an instinctive fear more powerful than the urge to fight, Ethan slowly moved one foot back, wanting to distance himself from this demonic creature.
The Homothal took one step toward Ethan and swatted away the rifle-club. Ethan backed up slowly, fear replaced by panic. He stumbled and fell. The Homothal reached down placing a large hairy hand around Ethan’s throat. The fingers squeezed, digging into his neck and threatening to rupture his trachea.
The Homothal lifted Ethan by the throat using only one hand—squeezing the life from his young body. Ethan couldn’t breathe. He was desperately trying to break the grip and free himself. Tugging and clawing at the iron hand wrapped around his neck, feet dangling off the ground, he couldn’t loosen the vise-like grip. His vision began to fade, growing dim around the edge—he knew he was passing out and would soon die. The Homothal pulled Ethan closer—they were almost touching, face to face. Ethan thought his last sensation in life would be the creature’s foul, dank breath.
Only yards away, Peter shook the cobwebs from his head and saw the Homothal strangling his son. Grabbing his hunting knife from the sheath at his hip, he pushed himself to his feet and lunged for the Homothal. The blade plunged deep into the Homothal’s lower back. This time it screamed in pain and dropped Ethan.
Peter retracted the knife and drew his arm back to thrust the blade into the creature again. It twisted and swung back with its elbow, catching Peter in the jaw.
The blow knocked Peter to the ground, but the knife was still firmly in his grip. He got up and charged the Homothal only to have the blow deflected. Peter recovered his balance and stood facing the beast. He noticed the eyes and dense hair on the exposed arms and face. He also noticed the relatively large head with shallow sloping forehead. The limbs were extremely muscular, giving it an overall appearance of being rather short and heavy, even though Peter estimated it must have been six feet tall—as tall as himself.
Peter lunged forward again and attempted to stab the Homothal. But he wasn’t trained in hand-to-hand combat and his adversary was. The Homothal parried the thrust and grabbed Peter’s arm, twisting and bending the limb until Peter was forced to drop the knife. Then the creature wrapped a huge arm around Peter’s throat, squeezing and threatening to crush his windpipe. He found it impossible to breath.
Ethan had regained his awareness in time to see his father in a strangle hold. He picked up a grapefruit-sized rock and slammed it into the Homothal’s head from behind. The creature dropped Peter and turned to face the new threat. It slammed a fist into Ethan’s face, spraying blood and saliva. In rapid succession, the Homothal swung again and again, each blow landing hard on Ethan’s face. The tissue around his eyes was cut and bruised from the hammering. Rather than kill cleanly, the Homothal was playing with this victim�
�trying to slowly crush the skull using only its own brute strength.
Ethan staggered. He could hardly see—his eyes were so badly swollen—and his head felt like someone was hammering a steel wedge into it; every blow another strike to the wedge as excruciating, sharp pain blasted his skull.
Peter was trying to regain his breath. He was on the verge of blacking out, but he was sure he could see Ethan being pummeled by the Homothal. Gary and Todd were lying motionless, either dead or unconscious—he had no way of knowing.
Seeing his son suffering at the hands of the Homothal, fired a final dose of adrenaline through Peter. He slowly struggled to his feet, barely able to hold his balance. He took two steps toward the Homothal and as much fell into the beast as tackled it. The attack was weak and without effect. The creature brushed Peter off like an insect and viciously kicked him in the head and chest until Peter no longer moved.
“Dad!” cried Ethan as he struck the Homothal in the back, trying to make it stop.
It worked, and the Homothal turned its attention back to Ethan.
The Homothal considered its prey and took a moment to savor the pleasure of killing. Yes, one more blow and the skull would crack like an egg. The creature drew back its right arm and rammed it forward, landing firmly on Ethan’s cheek bone. The Homothal smiled at the sound of breaking bone. The boy’s limp body fell to the ground.
Chapter 30
Darfur
June 14 0425 hours
“Fall back!” ordered Commander Nicolaou.
One by one, Coyote, Homer, Magnum, Bull and Ghost all made a hasty retreat. Using cover wherever possible and firing to provide protection for their comrades, the SGIT team found itself moving off the ridge crest and back down toward their temporary campsite.
The Homothals made a final rush on the SGIT position, overtaking them in seconds. As the combatants merged, it was impossible to reload weapons—the fighting devolved to vicious hand-to-hand combat. In the frenzied brawl, pistols were drawn and fired at point blank range. Rifles became clubs to be replaced by knives.
The superior strength of the Homothals was proving a decisive advantage. Jim’s team was steadily pushed down off the ridge toward the position near the two boulders that Peter and his friends had occupied.
Jim had his Beretta 9mm pistol in hand, rifle slung across his back, favoring the pistol’s maneuverability in the tangled and confusing battle. He fired at any Homothal offering a clear target. The bullets still had little effect, and at first Jim thought that maybe the soldiers were wearing body armor. But as the fighting became more personal, he could see blood oozing from the bullet wounds. The enemy fighters were not registering shock or pain, and they were very difficult to kill.
Bull and Ghost both held tightly to their AA12 automatic shotguns, alternately using them as a bludgeon or firearm. It was taking half a dozen rounds of 00 buckshot to kill each Homothal; they were chewing up their ammunition fast—too fast.
Magnum and Coyote were providing cover fire as Jim retreated closer to the two boulders, expecting to find Peter there. He clearly saw the boulders and wondered why the civilians were not providing cover fire as well. Then he saw the Homothal.
It was punching Ethan violently. How Ethan could still be standing was beyond Jim’s comprehension. He saw Peter stagger to his feet and try to tackle the Homothal, only to be knocked down and kicked viciously.
Jim was 40 yards away as the Homothal raised its rifle, preparing to smash Ethan’s head where he now lay motionless on the ground. He knew he couldn’t reach the monster in time to stop its murderous rampage, so Jim raised his Beretta and fired. The bullet dug deep into the creature’s shoulder—it hesitated for a moment, turning to look at the man who had shot it.
Again Jim fired… and again and again. Each time the bullet struck home, but still the beast stood over Ethan, rifle raised. Again and again the Beretta erupted, the bullets hitting the Homothal in the back and shoulder. Jim was shooting and running to close the distance to Ethan.
The Homothal, only five yards away now, looked at Jim defiantly. Staring into the blood-thristy yellow eyes, Jim saw nothing but death in this thing. He raised his pistol and fired his last round into the creature’s forehead, finally killing it, as the slide of his pistol clanged open.
Without pausing, Jim dropped the empty magazine and slammed home a full one. Rushing up to Ethan, Jim saw a badly swollen and bruised face; blood oozed from both ears as well as his nose. Mercifully, Ethan was unconscious. “Bull!” he yelled.
Bull was trying to extract himself from the close-quarters combat as were his fellow SGIT soldiers. His AA12 empty, Bull was swinging it like a truncheon to fend off the attackers. He slammed the butt stock into the skull of a charging Homothal—the blow would have killed a man. The creature barely paused before swinging its rifle, connecting with Bull’s stomach. He rolled backward, absorbing the blow.
Two more Homothals broke away from the hand-to-hand fighting and headed towards the twin boulders where Jim was alone with his injured friends. Bull rolled and started to rise to his feet; he needed to help his commander. Suddenly the Homothal he had clubbed—ineffectively—was upon him again, smashing a rock-hard fist into his back. Bull went down onto one knee.
Again Bull started to rise, but the Homothal struck him once more, driving him down. Bull gasped from the sharp pain radiating the length of his spine; he knew his body couldn’t absorb this beating for long. The beast kicked Bull in the ribs, rolling him over onto his back. Then the Homothal raised its booted foot, preparing to slam it down on Bull’s chest.
As Bull rolled to avoid the blow, he pulled his combat knife. The behemoth closed the distance and swung a downward punch connecting with Bull’s cheek. Somehow he absorbed the blow, and while the Homothal was off balance, Bull thrust the knife forward and upward into the Homothal’s abdomen.
The face of the Homothal was so coarse and grotesque in appearance that it was hard to see any emotion in it at all. But with his hand still firmly gripping the handle of the combat knife, Bull swore he saw surprise register in the creature’s eyes.
The creature recovered and raised its fist, preparing to strike down on Bull. But Bull was not about to let go. He twisted the knife and then thrust down, violently slashing from the belly to the pelvic bone, eviscerating the beast. Intestines and blood spilled from the massive wound. The Homothal bellowed in agony as Bull slashed the knife to the side, enlarging the wound even further. The monster teetered on its feet for a moment before its legs buckled and it collapsed to the ground.
Bull stood with his knife still in hand. He had to get to Boss Man. He picked up his empty AA12 and looked back to the fighting in time to see Magnum level his rifle and take out a Homothal with a short burst of automatic fire. As he swung his head back toward the twin boulders, Bull caught a glimpse of two uniformed men—not Homothals—standing to the side of the battle. What are they doing? Not taking time to think about it further, he rose and began running to Boss Man—the two beasts were almost to the boulders.
Jim was ready. As the two savage creatures converged on his position, he holstered the Beretta and unslung the H&K rifle from his back. Verifying a clear line of fire, he dropped to one knee and fired the H&K in controlled three round bursts.
The behemoths returned fire, stopping each time to shoot. They had closed to within 50 yards of Jim, and with so little separation Jim could hardly miss. Yet each Homothal absorbed two bursts of rifle fire—Jim was certain that all the bullets had impacted their torsos—when they both finally dropped dead.
The odd appearance of these things combined with their extreme insensitivity to bodily trauma was something that he would need to report back to Ellen Lacey and the team at The Office. Maybe we can collect some blood and tissue samples. His mind continued to function analytically while still not comprehending how bad the fight was going—not anticipating how much worse it was about to get.
“Bull!” Jim shouted again, trying to be heard above
the roar of battle.
Two seconds later Bull ran up, short of breath. He had taken a tremendous beating; at least a couple ribs were probably broken. Each breath was labored, punctuated by sharp, stabbing pain.
Bull immediately took in the situation. Ethan was nearest and obviously in serious condition. Bull pressed two fingers against Ethan’s carotid artery to make sure he had a pulse. It was barely discernible.
He produced a small penlight and gently lifted Ethan’s eyelids when the examination was cut short.
“No time, we’ve got to get off this ridge and establish a defensive position.”
“I’ve got to get this kid stabilized. He’s likely got a concussion and possibly a fractured skull.”
“You’ve got three more patients, too. I don’t know what condition Peter, Todd, and Gary are in—but at least they’re alive. Hamaad is dead.”
Bull looked at Jim, “What the hell happened?”
“There are two dead…” Jim struggled for a word to describe their enemy. They certainly were not men. “…whatever the hell they are, there are two lying over there,” he pointed toward the boulders. “I think our friends here saved our bacon by engaging a second squad angling to attack our rear. If they hadn’t done so, we’d probably all be dead right now.”
Bull persisted. Even with just a quick assessment he knew the injuries were serious “These men are suffering multiple traumas; lacerations, bruising, possible internal bleeding, possible concussion, and possible broken bones. We’ve got to get them off this ridge and into decent medical care or we’re gonna lose some—maybe all—of them.”
Jim maintained his vigil while listening to Bull’s status report. He glanced briefly at Bull and saw the worry etched in the medic’s face.
