“Hey! What’s a hormone?” Gus asked. “Anything you pay her to!” he answered, trying again to get a laugh. All the guys groaned at the even sorrier attempt at a joke.
“Give it up, Gus. Some guys just can’t tell a joke!” Ing told him.
“No, seriously, fellas,” Sanchez continued. “Haven’t you guys been wondering just what in the hell they’ve been putting in us?” She looked at each of her counterparts. “I mean, shit. Look at how fast we are now. How quick our reaction times are.” She looked at TD in particular. “Jimmy, look at how far you were jumping today. Tell me that ain’t some kind of record breaker, right there!” She turned to Gus. “And Tracy. You’re a big man. Tell me you ever ran that fast in your life?” Gus shook his head no. “I didn’t think so.”
Ronald took a moment to look each of the men in their faces. “No, she’s right. Each of you tell me you haven’t had some weird thoughts on this. Like maybe this is some alien shit or something, yeah? I mean, where do they come up with this stuff?” He took another bite and continued, “And I hear that we still aren’t even close to what our ‘true potential’ is before we’re gonna be allowed to hit the muck.”
All of the men were silent for a moment as the thoughts set in and they pondered Sanchez’s question. Finally, Jacobs stated, “I feel sorry for whatever fuckin’ monster we run into first.” And all the men laughed in unison.
*****
After chow was over and the squad was allowed some down time for R&R, the surviving Monster Squad was brought in and introduced by the XO. Laura had the new members assemble in the break room for a formal introduction. Matt was afraid that the mixing of old and new members might cause some friction, but they had been informed beforehand that new members were already in place and their training had to be the number one priority. Surprisingly, all of the squad members agreed. Although they mourned the loss of their brothers in arms, they understood the mission and acted professionally when Matt spoke with them. They understood that, without the proper training, the new member’s lives and their own could very well be forfeit on the battle field.
Laura waited until the squad members all filed in and it never failed to impress her just how large each man was up close. She could see how each sized up the other before approaching and introducing themselves. Laura started with a little speech she had prepared on how she hoped the two groups could come together and work as one, the new learning from the established and the established using their first-hand knowledge to train the new recruits in just what to expect in the field. She explained that at this moment in time, it was still unclear if the original squad members would remain as assigned or if they would, in fact, be creating two new squads with a mix of both established members and new recruits in order to have their strengths more evenly spread between the two squads.
Next, she introduced each of the existing squad members and had them give a brief history of themselves for the newer members to have a better understanding of who they’d be working with. First up was Donnie Donovan. Tall and with close cropped dark hair, he looked like a poster boy for spec op.
“Yeah, I’m Donnie Donovan. I guess my parents had a sense of humor. At least it’s not David Davis, right?” Donnie smiled, setting the new people at ease. “I’m a Navy SEAL and all that implies. Of course, as the colonel will explain, if he hasn’t already, the past is wiped once we sign on here. Rank and branch no longer apply, but…I used to be a SEAL. And yeah, I’m proud of that. Hardest job I ever loved,” he said. “Well…until this one.”
Next was the only black man of the group. Large and muscular, he stood a good head taller than the rest. He cleared his throat and tried to smile, but it looked a lot like a snarl. “My name is Apollo. Apollo Creed Williams. My pops was a huge fan of the old Rocky movies and loved Carl Weathers, and I was the first born son, so I got stuck with the name” He smiled, and this time it looked like a smile. The others smiled back and Sanchez even gave a little sigh. “Army Ranger, amateur body builder, now, full time monster killer.” Apollo let loose with a beaming smile that made the others laugh.
A non-descript, but muscular man stood up and said, “I’m Spanky. Actually, it’s Darren, Darren Spalding, but for some damned reason, these ass hats started calling me Spanky and I didn’t beat them to death over it. It stuck.” The new folks sort of looked at each other, trying to guess the meaning of the nickname, but thought it best not to ask.
A darker-skinned fellow stood and introduced himself. “Pedro Gonzales. They call me Popo. Military police turned Army airborne.” Then he sat back down.
A dark haired, good looking guy stood and smiled like a used car salesman. “Dominic DeGiacomo. Dom to my friends. Best looking of the group, as you can obviously see. Best shooter, too. Army Airborne. These fucks call me Guido, but what the fuck do they know, eh?” His self-depreciating manner brought a few chuckles from the new crowd.
The largest of the group stood. He was blonde and blue eyed and looked of Nordic descent. “I am Neils Erikson. They call me Hammer. As in Thor’s Hammer. They think I’m Norwegian, but my family is Swiss. These dumbasses can’t tell the difference. It’s all Alps and chocolate to them,” he said and sat back down. He quickly stood again and said, “Navy SEAL.” And sat back down.
One man who had been standing in the rear of the room the whole time and remained silent through it all, continued to remain silent. Laura motioned to him, “Hank? Care to introduce yourself?”
He had a peaceful face, but everyone could tell he was wound tight as a drum, as if he were waiting for something evil to burst into the room at any given moment. His eyes were disconcerting to all of them, yet he made no overtly aggressive moves. Finally, he sighed and stepped forward.
Hank cleared his throat and said softly, “Hank Michaels. Marine Force Recon.” Then stepped back to where he was.
Sanchez nodded. “Mm-hmm. A man of few words, I see.” But her desired reaction wasn’t reciprocated. There was no humor to be found.
Lamb nodded to Hank. “These guys got nicknames. They give you one, too?”
Spanky hooked a thumb toward Hank, “Just call him Padre.” When that earned a few raised eyebrows, Spanky elaborated. “He’s our resident warrior monk. He’s also the only one of us to come search out this group to join it.”
*****
Jack awoke to find his arm feeling much better, but his head hurt. He leaned over for the water pitcher and was surprised that his back and ribs felt much better. Next to the pitcher was a platter of cooling mutton and sliced bread. Fresh sliced vegetables sat on the platter next to the mutton. He was starving and made a quick meal of the offering.
He sat up as best he could and made an assessment of his injuries again. His headache was fading, but his back ached as did his ribs. He could almost swear that they itched under his skin. His legs still throbbed, but not nearly as badly as they had when he first arrived. His arm ached, but was usable. Flexing his fingers and twisting his wrist, he felt only a slight pain in his arm. He could hear a sound approaching and knew from previous visits that Rufus was approaching the door. This time, though, no heavy bolt was thrown before the heavy oak door slid open slowly.
“Thank you for the lamb. It was delicious,” Jack said, actually feeling grateful.
“You are most welcome, Mr. Thompson. I wanted to check to see if you had woken yet and I am glad that you found the meal satisfactory,” Rufus replied as he entered the room. “Do you mind company?”
“Please. I actually have more questions for you, if you don’t mind?” Jack asked.
“What knowledge I have is yours for the asking, Mr. Thompson.” Rufus pulled the high-backed chair beside the bed where they had last spoke and settled in. “Please understand, though, I have only limited knowledge of what other tribes may or may not do behind closed doors.”
Jack was more interested in what attacked his squad during broad daylight. Whatever it was had done so brutally fast and without warning. If the vampire would allow h
im to pick his brain for details, and if Jack ever did get the information out, then hopefully other squads could be warned to exactly what kind of monster is out there and be better prepared to face them. Jack felt it was time to test his hosts’ generosity.
“How did I get here?” Jack asked.
“We had you brought here,” Rufus answered.
Jack waited a moment for Rufus to expand on the answer, but he didn’t. So Jack expanded the question. “By what?”
“By a werewolf,” Rufus answered.
Jack gave Rufus a sidelong look. Werewolves transform at the full moon, and this op took place during the day. To the best of his knowledge, it was weeks away from a full moon. “Bullshit. What was it really?”
“It was truly a werewolf,” Rufus answered.
“Ya know what, Rufus? Fuck you. Seriously. For a moment, I thought you were going to play ball with me here and answer some of the questions I had, but if you’re gonna jerk my chain, then—”
“I am not jerking your chain, Mr. Thompson!” Rufus exclaimed. “Dieu damn! Comment faire..?” Rufus sighed and then sat back into his chair. He steepled his fingers together and rested his chin against them. Finally he raised his eyes to Jack and said, “Mr. Thompson, you have a lot to learn about a lot of things. I suggest you get comfortable.”
Jack looked at Rufus suspiciously. He still wasn’t sure if he trusted the vampire, but somehow he felt that he was about to get schooled on things that even the Monster Squad wasn’t aware of. Cautiously, he leaned forward and shoved an extra pillow behind his back to support him better then pushed himself up on it and settled in. “Educate me, Rufus.”
Rufus sat up straighter in his chair. His gaze drifted to the candle on the bedside table and he seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke, but Jack had no trouble hearing him. “Do you know the legends of our origins, Mr. Thompson?” Rufus inquired.
“No. We’re only trained how to hunt down and kill the monsters that prey on humans,” Jack answered, hoping his answer sounded cold and calculated. Rufus appeared unaffected, still staring at the candle.
“We, ourselves are unsure of our origins. We have only legends to go by,” he stated. “But even legends have a grain of truth at their hearts, yes?” Finally he turned to look at Jack, a sad smile forming. Rufus sighed again and began his tale.
“Many centuries ago, it is said that one of the Disciples of Christ turned on him, yes? Judas.” Jack was never really a religious man, but he remembered that much from his grandmother dragging him to Sunday School as a kid. “Judas’ betrayal was the worst kind. A betrayal of a brother against another. However, this brother was the Son of God. So his punishment was everlasting. Judas indeed tried to hang himself out of guilt, but he never truly saw death. Rather, he became the undead. Never truly alive, never truly dead, never to die.” Rufus, cleared his throat and turned again to the flickering flame of the candle and let his gaze stare into the glow. “Never to walk in the light of the sun again, forever cast into the darkness…this was his punishment. To be forever a creature of the night and to forever feed upon the very blood of mankind. A thirst more powerful than any mortal greed, and his only weakness, the same weakness that bought his treachery in the first place.” Rufus turned again to Jack. “Silver.”
“So you’re saying that a disciple of Jesus was the first vampire?” Jack asked, somewhat disbelieving.
“So say the legends,” Rufus answered. “And of those that he fed upon, if any lived, they too became vampire. Although few survived early on. Legend says that it took him many years to discover the pathway to truly create without destroying the mind.”
“Sharing his blood with them.”
“Exactement! Otherwise, they were mindless creatures, running rampant through the countryside without the sense to escape the burning sun when it rose, and were quickly disposed of,” Rufus answered. “But once he discovered that sharing his own blood with others salvaged the mind of the victim, he chose wisely in who he turned. People of great wealth and power. And he ruled great lands with many wives, and sired many children. Natural born vampires, who’s powers are very much like the stories you read in your novels and—”
“Whoa! Wait a minute, hold on a second!” Jack interrupted. “You mean to tell me that vampires can breed? We’ve been taught that once somebody is turned, they’re basically sterile.”
“Oui. For the most part, most turned vampires are sterile,” Rufus explained. “But not all. This is why he took many wives, to increase the odds of siring offspring, and why the natural-born vampires rose to such prominence in the ranks of the families.”
“This still doesn’t explain the werewolves who operate during the day,” Jack said.
“True. I am getting to that.” Rufus shifted in his chair to face Jack better. “According to the legends, at the time that the first vampire came into being, the first werewolf was as well.”
“One of Judas’ first victims?” Jack asked.
“Non,” Rufus answered. “The Roman centurion that he conspired with, the very centurion who pierced the side of Christ at the moment of death, whose spear became the ‘spear of destiny’…he became the father of the wolves.”
Jack was taken aback by this revelation. If what Rufus was telling him were true, if the vampire legends were true, it went a long way toward explaining the allergic reactions both had to silver, as the thirty silver coins were tied to both originators. Both had conspired to betray Christ and brought the wrath of God upon their heads. Both had personally wounded Christ, one with a kiss, the other with a spear. Still, it didn’t explain how his team was attacked in broad daylight.
“So how did these wolves operate without it being a full moon?” Jack asked.
“They were natural born,” Rufus answered. “Direct descendants of that Roman centurion. Claudius Maximus Veranus was the centurion. Many have tried to claim that Longinus was the centurion who pierced His holy side and then later converted to Christianity, but alas, that is not how it was. Longinus may have been present at the time, but he did not wield that spear.”
Rufus stood and poured a glass of water for Jack then returned to his chair. Jack studied that glass as Rufus spoke further. “Like other shifters, natural-born werewolves can control their transition to the animal. They do not need a full moon. However, on the full moon, they cannot control it. The lunar cycle controls them. When a natural born wolf shifts during the full moon, the wolf has control of their mind. If they control the shift and do it on their own on any other day then they still retain their minds and have full cognizance of what they are doing.”
“Other shifters? What do you mean, ‘other’ shifters?” Jack asked.
Rufus smiled slightly then responded. “There are shape shifters out there who can assume any animal shape they so desire. It could be something as large as a horse or as small as mice. Some prefer to take flight and will often take on predatory birds like owls or hawks.”
“So the wolves who aren’t natural born?” Jack asked.
“Survivors of an attack, usually,” Rufus stated. But Jack could see that he was holding something back. What that something was, he wasn’t sure, but what the vampire had shared so far was making sense. Too much sense to just be legend. As Rufus had said, didn’t all legends have a grain of truth at their heart?
9
Mitchell had just sat at his desk and opened the day’s summary reports when he heard a knock at his door. “Come,” he said without looking up.
“Colonel? I think I have something disturbing to report from the squad attack in Texas.” Mitchell looked up to see his lead lab technician at his door. The man was pale and holding a folder in shaking hands.
“Come in, Mike. What is it?” Mitchell only had a handful of civilians working for him and Mike Waters was one of them. One of the best pathologists and forensic investigators Mitchell could find.
“Matt, our clean-up crew scoured the area. We got every
fiber, hair, scrap of clothing…hell, even trash that had blown in from off-scene.” Mike finally met his eyes. “It is our best belief that one of the men is missing from the carnage.”
Mitchell was unsure how to take the news. “Missing how? Like possibly still alive or dragged off and killed or eaten on site?” Matt’s mind reeled at the thought.
“We looked at the depth of prints coming in and estimated weights of the incoming attackers. The sand was soft, so impressions were impossible, but we were able to discern that one set of prints that left, singularly away from all the others, were at least two hundred pounds heavier than any of the others simply by the depth of the impression in the sand and the spray off the prints. We think that these prints might indicate that one of the men was being carried away from the scene.”
“Do you have any idea who it is yet?” Matt asked, hoping that at least one of his men was still alive.
“Thompson, sir.” Mike handed him the file with the forensic data. “All the other men’s uniforms have been more or less pieced together except for the Phoenix. We haven’t found a single scrap of his uniform in any of the carnage.” The Phoenix was Chief Petty Officer Jack Thompson’s call sign that the squad members had given him after he walked out of a fireball of a building without a scratch on him.
Matt took the file and thumbed through the photos of the scene, the morgue photos where bodies were pieced back together like a puzzle, hair and blood analysis, soil analysis, photos of trash and shell casings, photos of boot and foot prints, blood splatters and sprays and a summary of evidential findings. “Anything else I need to know?”
“Not at this time, sir. This is the final report and the remains are being prepared for cremation,” Mike responded.
“Very well,” Matt said. “If anything else happens to come up, I want to know.” Mike turned and left and Matt opened the blinds in his office looking down onto the training area. Squad members were gearing up for a live fire exercise in the CQB simulators. Laura had the drill instructors separate and mix them according to their strengths and while one squad went through the drill, the other prepared their gear. Matt watched the teams as they prepared for the exercise but his mind was on Chief Thompson and the possibility that he may be alive. What could they want with him? Were they torturing him? Were they trying to get information from him? Would they try to attack the teams here at the base? These thoughts and many others ran through his mind as he observed the squads perform flawlessly one after the other in different scenarios and with the DI’s changing the layouts of the CQB platform between runs so that no two runs were the same.
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