Seven Deadly Sons

by C. E. Martin

  Visibility was nearly zero. A brutal wind was blowing ice crystals around in the air now. If he'd have been flesh, they'd have probably scoured the skin right off him. He ignored the pelting and rapidly gathered his parachute.

  "Let them go!" Commander Smith, ATLAS, directed over the comm channel. Jacobson could barely hear him over the wind. "Release your chutes and harnesses!"

  Jacobson looked around, counting the markers for his team in the HUD. ATLAS, ZEUS, JANUS, BRIONES, STEVENS. All six men had made it down.

  Jacobson broke into a jog, headed toward Smith, the team commander for this mission. The others were doing the same thing. To his right a pulsing red square marked the exact location of the hatch the scouting team had located. Once they formed up, they'd head into the Nazi bunker.

  And hopefully into some action.

  ***

  "Did we kill it?" Jimmy asked, checking his rifle as they crept up on the überwolf collapsed in a pile on the floor of the tunnel. It had finally dropped not twenty feet short of their improvised barricades, riddled with bullets.

  Even now, smoke was curling up out of many of its wounds, flesh sizzling as white phosphorous tried to ignite it.

  "Just hold up," Josie said, her own rifle at the ready. "Let me freeze it."

  She began to concentrate on the still überwolf, when Javi spun in place, aiming her rifle back down the corridor. "Did you hear that?"

  "On it!" Jimmy said, pulling a slapflare from a pouch on his vest. He held it parallel to the floor and struck the end, sending a bright, white flare racing down the hallway.

  About two hundred feet away, just where the tunnel ended at a t-shaped intersection, two more überwolves were illuminated by the flare passing between them.

  "Shit!" Jimmy said. He dropped to one knee and began firing his M4.

  The überwolf on the ground suddenly moved—ice encrusting its thick fur cracked and broke, and the beast rose up from the ground, supporting itself with one hand.

  Javi Wallach squeezed her trigger, sending a spray of white phosphorous and silver bullets into the creature.

  The beast roared and pushed with its legs, managing to move closer to Javi. Its free hand swung around and caught the Mossad agent in the chest, lifting her off her feet. She was flung against a wall, crashing against it and dropping to the floor.

  Then the überwolf that had struck her was on fire.

  It was as though the creature had been doused in gasoline. It was enveloped in a huge ball of orange and white. The flames lasted only for a second, then died out, leaving a blackened, smoking form.

  Josie fired her M4 into the creature, concentrating her fire on its head. The enormous body shuddered and collapsed back to the floor of the tunnel.

  Josie swung her rifle around, just as Jimmy yelled "Reloading!" and dropped a spent magazine from his M4. The two überwolves were nearly on them, charging forward, running on all fours up the tunnel.

  The sudden machinegun fire behind Josie nearly made her jump out of her skin. Twin streams of tracer fire erupted on either side of her, racing down the corridor. She threw herself flat on the rough floor.

  The torrent of bullets that narrowly missed Josie found their mark, slamming into the charging werewolves and making them bellow in pain. But they kept running.

  Josie saw two pairs of boots run past her, stopping inches away from her head. A strong hand grabbed her ankle and she felt herself jerked backwards, across the cold floor of the tunnel. The staccato roar of machinegun firing seemed to increase in intensity.

  Josie was lifted from the ground and shoved through the open door of the room she and Javan Wallach had been in. She stumbled but managed to catch herself. She turned quickly and saw that Commander Smith was ducking back out the door, rejoining his team in the corridor.

  The stone soldiers had arrived just in time. Paul Briones and Wayne Stevens were kneeling in the tunnel, firing M249 machineguns into the charging überwolves. Behind them, Chad Phillips and Isaac Jacobson were standing, firing their machineguns as well. Like Josie, Jimmy had been pulled from the tunnel and roughly shoved into a side room by Victor Hornbeck.

  The M249s roared in the tight confines of the tunnel, their two hundred round ammo packs and sustained fire making a considerable difference from the quick bursts the M4s Josie and Jimmy had been using on the überwolves. The monsters were being ripped apart as they charged forward.

  But despite the agonizing pain and the sizzling chunks of flesh being blown off of them, the monsters continued on, finally leaping at the stone soldiers and knocking Briones and Jacobson off their feet like bowling pins. The roar of the machineguns abruptly ended.

  ***

  Mark Kenslir had fought werewolves before. Many times, on multiple continents. But despite the debrief of the team from the attack on Argon Tower, he was surprised just how strong these überwolves were.

  The beast had caught him off guard as he tried to cybernetically switch his tactical goggles to an intermittent, periodic burst transmission to keep Command updated on their progress. The eight-foot tall monster had hit him like a freight train, breaking even his dense bones and sending him flying. He'd even dropped his silenced MK 23.

  Kenslir landed roughly, unprepared for the sudden attack. He recovered his wits quickly, ignoring the rough landing and bringing his fists up. The überwolf was on top of him immediately. It was fast.

  Kenslir didn't hold back, he struck with all his might. He was as strong as a werewolf, just like all the stone soldiers. His punches could bend steel plates and shatter concrete. He felt bones break.

  Then a clawed hand raked across his face and a mouthful of fangs clamped down on his left forearm.

  Green light flared in the corridor as the überwolf came into contact with Kenslir. That meant that the beast was not only magically transformed, but magically supercharged.

  The Colonel ignored the pain as the bones in his left arm were broken and crushed by the bite of the monster. He ignored the strips of skin and flesh torn off his face. He ignored the agony of his right eye being sliced in half, the tactical goggles that should have protected it knocked off in the initial attack.

  Kenslir twisted and kicked, driving his right leg up into the monster's stomach, not to crush, but to push. He threw himself onto his back and pulled the beast down with him, somehow managing to flip it up and over his head—wrenching his arm free of its mouth, taking several teeth with him.

  The surprised überwolf landed on its back but quickly rolled over. It was on its feet even as the Colonel was back on his. The two stood still only for a moment—just long enough to size each other up.

  Kenslir was badly injured. The gashes in his face were clear to the bone, which was itself carved with deep grooves. But his torn flesh, like his eye, had already petrified, turning to stone. His left arm, down to his hand, was petrifying as well, the bones shattered, blood vessels severed, muscles and tendons shredded.

  The überwolf was surprised more than anything. It had expected a simple human target. The fact that the soldier it had tackled could even get back to his feet was shocking.

  The beast lunged forward, snarling.

  There was no time to draw a weapon. Nor could he rely on his enhanced strength in this fight. But Mark Kenslir had other options. Even before his own transformation so many years ago he'd been trained to deal with the supernatural.

  He pivoted in place on his left foot and his right snapped out, heel first. The blow was so fast the lunging überwolf couldn't dodge it. Tan boot heel crashed squarely into werewolf snout. Bone splintered and crushed, teeth exploded free from gums and neck vertebrae shattered.

  The beast's momentum was halted. Then the Colonel followed up with a right-handed fist, a stony left-handed palm strike and a front kick from his left foot. All in under a second, and all with bone shattering force behind them.

  The überwolf was smashed into the corridor wall, its skull fracturing, squeezed between the rock and the Colonel's blows. Then it
was flung backward, flipping back and crashing down hard on its back.

  Kenslir pushed his attack, leaping onto the creature and driving a palm down into its chest. The monster’s rib cage burst under the force of the blow, ribs actually extending out its sides as its heart and other internal organs exploded.

  Kenslir was reaching for one of his knives when something hit him from behind.

  It was another überwolf.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The agony of being burned alive, from the inside out, was still torturing him, but Bernhart fought past it, snarling and slashing at the soldiers packed into the hallway. His two brothers were lashing out as well, whirling dervishes of teeth and claw.

  Had their opponents been flesh and blood, they would be reduced to smears by now. But these were more of the accursed Golems, like the one Friedrich had in captivity. And there were six of them.

  Their machineguns had been terrible, spraying a hail of burning, paralyzing bullets into the überwolves' flesh that even their regenerative powers struggled against. Only sheer willpower had kept them going. Once in close quarters with their attackers, the überwolves regained the upper hand. They were far stronger than the Golems.

  Bernhart was ready to start gloating when from the roiling melee of stone and fur, a knife sliced through his arm. It cleaved his flesh and bone, an irresistible force of metal. Suddenly, the sensation in his arm, from a point mid-way between his wrist and elbow was gone.

  Bernhart staggered backwards, and another knife slashed through the air and his stomach. He felt his guts pour out, then his vision went white. Blue white.

  The crackling discharge of lightning was unmistakable, and immediately followed by the smell of ozone and burnt flesh. Then something hard crashed into Bernhart's side and he was sent flying.

  He landed roughly on his side, knocked clear of the mass of werewolves and Golems duking it out in the close confines of the tunnel. His eyes finally cleared, and he saw that yes, his right hand was gone, hacked off by a Golem. The flesh was already surging and extending from his stump, tentacle-like, growing outwards to replace the severed limb.

  Bernhart grabbed at his stomach, reaching for his guts—his intestines had spilled out of the two-foot-long slash in his torso. He stuffed the intestines back in, helping them as they were being drawn up inside him, like rope on a winch.

  His brothers were not faring so well.

  Gerhart and Erik were being carved up like prize steers now. The men of stone had them surrounded, hacking and slashing with what looked like short swords. The far larger überwolves tried to lash out, but even their strength was no match for the indestructible stone men.

  Erik's head suddenly flew off his body, joining one of his legs on the floor of the tunnel. Then another blast of lightning erupted from the flurry of knives slashing and stabbing the überwolves.

  Bernhart did the only thing he could think to do. He leapt to his feet and ran away.

  ***

  Laura Olson was screaming now. In a pure rage. She couldn't turn into her new, demonic-looking form, because the stupid assault vest she wore happened to be made of dense, space age fibers meant to protect her from physical injury. And she didn’t have the time to take it off.

  Her skin was mottled, veins standing out, grotesque cords of muscles writhing beneath it. Her four horns had erupted from her head, just above her goggles. Her boots had exploded off feet now several sizes larger and tipped with ghastly talons like the ones on her hands.

  It would have to do.

  The second überwolf attacking Mark had left itself wide open. And now its back was wide open, its spine showing—sliced by her long nails. Unfortunately, the beast was able to ignore the horrific wound, turning and knocking Laura off her monstrous feet with a backhand.

  She rolled with the blow and was quickly back up on her feet, ready to gut the enormous Nazi.

  Mark Kenslir was recovering as well. Only his vest had saved him from the sneak attack of the second creature. But that attack had delayed him enough that the first überwolf had recovered as well, its wounds fully healed. It and the Colonel were smashing each other into the walls of the tunnel, grabbing, pulling and punching, almost too fast to follow.

  Laura charged at her own opponent, mouth bared wide, fangs displayed.

  The überwolf took the bait and lunged to meet her. Its claws met hers, grabbing her hands as though trying to test its strength against the vampire's. Laura ducked her head down, clamping her mouth right on the top of the monster's snout. Bone crunched satisfyingly and blood filled her mouth.

  The überwolf tried to break free, but Laura had it now. Blue energy crackled where their hands touched and from the monster's snout, filling her own mouth. She was draining the creature of its very lifeforce.

  Colonel Kenslir was sore and battered, his own regenerative abilities struggling to keep up. He blocked blows with his fists and knees and rained down backhanded fists, elbows and even headbutts onto the creature. His knees slammed into the beast repeatedly, breaking ribs and compressing organs, but not doing enough to overcome the magically-charged creature's immense strength.

  The whirling, spinning brawl was exploding rock from the very walls of the tunnel. Blows that broke bone in the Colonel and the überwolf shook the walls of the tunnel like explosives. Green flashes of cancelled magical energy flickered like lightning every time the two struck each other.

  Kenslir's eye was regenerated now, the petrified hue of gray stone gone, the damage from the monster's claws repaired. The Colonel could see better, but knew the furious exchange of herculean blows was getting them both nowhere. He was holding his own with the creature, his strength, skills and own ability to negate the monster's energy keeping him alive.

  Kenslir considered ripping out the German's heart. But even he could last without his heart for several minutes—more than enough time to grow a replacement. And he couldn't reach his knives, strapped to his back. The beast's speed required him to block and counter in rapid succession just to avoid mortal wounds. An ordinary man would have failed from exhaustion long before now.

  Kenslir needed to go back to basics. To strip away the super strength, the curses and the years spent studying hand-to-hand techniques. He needed to remember how to deal with a wolf like when he was a boy in Montana. He'd never tried it himself, but his older brothers had assured him it would work.

  Kenslir's fist slammed forward, surprising the überwolf as it smashed through the creature's teeth. He drove the fist deep into the monster's mouth, into the back of its throat.

  The überwolf hesitated, halting its unending slashes. It chomped down on the Colonel's arm, feeling a satisfying spray of blood into its mouth.

  Kenslir reached back with his left hand and drew one of his Bowie knives. He felt the monster’s claws grab him—one over his kidneys, one around his neck. But before the beast could do anything else, he drove the Bowie knife into the side of its head, right through its ear.

  The beast shuddered and tried to howl in pain, but the Colonel's broken, torn arm was clogging its airway. Instead it tumbled forward, pushing Kenslir onto the floor and collapsing in a heap on top of him.

  The Colonel kicked with his feet, rolling the beast onto its side, careful not to pull the Bowie free. He pulled his mangled right arm from its jaws and pulled the tomahawk from the ammo carrier on his left leg.

  Half turning, he whipped the tomahawk up over his shoulder then sent it flying forward. It buried itself to the shaft in the back of the head of the shuddering überwolf wrestling with Laura Olson, splitting skull and brain in two.

  Olson stepped back as her opponent collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

  "Hey, I was eating that!" she hissed.

  "Stop screwing around and take its head off!" Kenslir snapped.

  He turned back to his own felled opponent, drawing his second Bowie knife from the sheath on his back, then set to work.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  "You kids okay
?" Chad Phillips asked once the fighting had died out.

  Josie nodded, watching as the stone soldiers scattered the pieces of the dismembered überwolves, to try and keep them from regenerating.

  "Sir? What do we do with these?" Isaac Jacobs asked, holding an überwolf head in each hand.

  "Winters? Can you burn those?" Daniel Smith asked. "And let's get an ammo count. Everyone check your gear."

  "Yeah, I'm on it," Josie said, then looked back to Phillips. "Glad you guys got here when you did."

  "Zero effect with the bullets?"

  "No, they seemed to slow down the first one..." Josie looked around. She didn't see a third head anywhere. Nor did she see Javan Wallach.

  "Where's Wallach?" she asked.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked around.

  "I thought she was with you," Jimmy said.

  The tactical goggles all flashed >>>LIVE<<< and Colonel Kenslir's voice came over the channel.

  "Winters! Smith! Report!"

  "We're fine, sir," Josie said.

  "Two überwolves dispatched, Colonel," Commander Smith said.

  "Heads up," Kenslir said. "We dispatched two here as well. No telling how many more of these there are."

  An information box sprang up, displaying Jonson, who was dressed in a pair of pants he'd taken from the machine shop's lockers. "Any chance you guys brought my leg?"

  "You'll grow a new one, next full moon," Kenslir said.

  "Sir!" Josie interrupted. "Ms. Wallach is missing. And one of the überwolves."

  Chad Phillips was surprised to hear this, as was Commander Smith.

  "I think she's right, sir," Smith sighed. "We've got a lot of pieces down here, but I only count two heads. One has gotten away."

  "Did it take Ms. Wallach?" Kenslir asked.

  "No idea, sir," Smith answered.

  "Get Kane transformed and tracking. And stick together!" Kenslir barked.