I spent the next three weeks combing the park methodically. I had to duck the FPI a few times, and once had to duck Pete, who was also doing a search. He had to make it look good, but he didn't really want to find anything. He was coming in once a week, filing reports, etc., like a normal cop would do. In short, what the FPI expected to see. Me, I was living off the land, filing reports via email to Lieutenant Murphy's home account, and staying off the radar. Just like the bad old days back in the Teams. At the end of three weeks, I had covered about a third or less of the park and had bupkis to show for it. I was cold half the time, because while a normal cougar can fort up and hide out in bad weather, going out only to hunt, I needed to be covering ground, trying to break a trail. It snowed almost every day now, and when it didn't, it was because it was too damn cold to snow.
The snow pack starts to squeak when you step on it and the hairs in your nostrils freeze, that's how you know it's too cold to snow much. When it was that cold, there was usually a wind too. When it warmed up some, the snow would start again, snowing so hard you could hear it hit. There was a constant hiss as the snow fell that made it very hard to hear anything else. Between the two, there was almost always noise. On the few occasions when there wasn't, the silence was almost painful. Snow has a sound-absorbing effect that damps the echoes and reverberations that you expect to hear, leaving a dead silence like the inside of an acoustic test chamber. Through all of this I get to trudge, looking for track or sign from a set of 'Thropes that are familiar with the area and are trying to stay low. Oh, and to make it better, the damn brush keeps snagging on my vest, dumping snow on me. Gosh, I just can't think of a better way to spend the week before Yule.
That evening I holed up in a snow cave that I dug out, and logged a report to the boss. Nothing much, just "I'm still alive, saw three FPI helos this week, they didn't see me." Then I got on the phone to Mary, and chatted with her a bit. If the FPI was really looking for me, they might be able to DF the satellite communication, but they think I'm still with Pete. I've gone to shelter at nights because it's just too damn cold when the sun goes down to do anything useful. The whole lone wolf thing was starting to get to me too. Two guys against the world? No Fucking Problem, it's what we do. Solo, on the other hand, that's not what I'm used to in patrol.
Christmas eve, I'm not a Christian any more (guess I never really was one for more than lip service), but Christmas and Yule are basically the same holiday. Christmas has always meant family for me, but my blood family is all either praying for my immortal soul, or cursing me to damnation. Mary is back at her place, or visiting her mom. Pete left me a note on email that he was going over to see Alex. Good for him, at least one of us was going to enjoy the evening. I ate a grouse that had been a little too sure of her camouflage, and then went into trance state. I went to visit the only family that would have me, and they were dead.
Lars and Robyn were happy to see me, we didn't do any work or anything, just sat at a table in the Great Hall, and talked. Tyr came over to do the "You're doing a fine job, keep up the good work!" thing that a good CO does at times like these, and then drifted off. The next morning I woke up stiff and cold, but feeling better than I had in a week. Merry Christmas. Now, back to work. I spent the rest of the week with nothing more to show.
On the second of January I finally ran across their sign. A set of fox tracks way too fuckin' big for a fox to make. The scent said fox, but there was something else too. It didn't smell like any 'Thrope I had ever smelled, but it sure as Hel wasn't a natural fox. I started following the tracks, taking the normal caution of checking my back trail. Mr. Fox was making the normal amount of precautions for checking his back trail, but nothing like the sort of paranoia I was expecting to see. For a group that had been disappearing into the woodwork, and was actively hiding from a potential enemy with helicopters, this guy was slacking. That made me nervous. I started really checking my own back trail and covering my own track, while still tracking this fox character. It slowed me down, and let him get further ahead of me, but he didn't seem to be in a great hurry, so as long as it didn't snow I was OK.
About sundown I spotted him. Not the fox, but the guy that was sweeping the fox's trail looking for trackers. It was what I was sort of suspecting, the fox was bait, and I was being led into a trap. I only got a glimpse of the back-tracker, but it was enough. Normal wolves don't track cougars, at least not without a pack! Further, no normal wolf wants anything to do with a 'Thrope, and I definitely smelled like a 'Thrope. Finally, I've never heard of a wolf that was quite this big. This guy must have gone two-fifty, maybe three hundred pounds. Well, now I had a decision to make. Do I let them lead me into a trap hoping that it will be non-lethal? Do I try to shake the wolf, risking losing the fox, or what? I thought about this for quite some time. Maybe fifteen minutes or so. If that doesn't seem like a long time to you, you've never been in a potential combat situation. Fifteen minutes is an eternity.
I finally came to the conclusion that if they were trailing a bait in front of me, they had to have known I was around. Maybe for quite some time. I sure didn't want to be led into their trap in the hopes that it was innocuous. Wishful thinking was never high on my list. Besides, if I continued to track Mr. Fox, they just might think I was: 1) a hostile, and 2) sloppy enough not to notice Mr. Wolf. Not a good introduction.
The next option was to try to break trail. Well, if they were trailing a bait in front of me, the only way I was going to break trail was to go completely into SERE mode. (That's Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape. A real special course that the military used to teach to pilots, SEALS, LRRPs, and such. I don't recommend it.) That was sort of ridiculous, since the whole reason I was out here was to make contact.
Third option, I could counter-track Mr. Wolf, try to catch him. Definitely a hostile act. Probably not a good plan, if they have known I was out here for long enough to set out an op like this. Oh, I might catch the wolf, I might even survive it. But I sure wouldn't be making any points with the rest of the crew, and at the bottom line, that was why I was here.
OK, fine. Let's go with option number four. If you can't win, change the rules or quit playing. I found a nice hummock of ground, well-sheltered from the wind, in and under trees, so the light from the fire wouldn't show quite so well, and set up camp. There was no way to hide a fire from thermal imagery, so I had to hope that the FPI wasn't using thermal, or that if they were, it was strictly airborne stuff, not satellite based. If they were using satellite thermal scan, I was about to stick out like a sore thumb, and the only thing I could hope was that they would think I was a civilian hiker.
After that, I shifted to cat man form (it's warmer than full human), built a small fire, took my gear off and started coffee. About an hour later, I heard a voice from the darkness.
"Hello, G.I., can I come in?" The voice came from downwind, and sounded oriental.
"Come on ahead. Are you Mr. Fox, or Mr. Wolf, or someone I haven't spotted?"
I heard a snort from the darkness. "I thought you had seen us. I could not think of any other reason that you would stop right there and set up camp." The voice was closing in as he spoke, and as he said the last word, he stepped into view. A little guy, about five feet four, might weigh a hundred twenty pounds, NONE of it fat. He was dressed for the weather, so either he had been packing clothes, or he had a cache nearby. The gear looked used but fairly new, down-filled snow suit, probably from Eddie Bauer. It was dark blue, and would have passed for modern ninja gear. He looked me in the eye, bowed from the waist and said "Staff Sergeant Yoshi Hakamura, United States Army, Retired, at your service."
I stood up and bowed as well. "Senior Chief John Fisher, United States Navy, Retired, at yours. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
Hakamura made a face and said "I never touch the stuff. Do you not know it is bad for you? Tea...now that is a civilized drink. You would not happen to have some?"
"Will Twining's green tea do?"
"That would be most
satisfactory." With this Hakamura came fully into the circle of firelight, and pulled up a spot of ground. I dumped the coffee I was making into my cup/bowl from my mess kit, and started a big chunk of snow to melt for tea.
"'Fraid it'll be bag, bulk is too much to carry when you're traveling as light as I am." I said, looking over at him apologetically.
"Bag will be fine. I am surprised a Gaijin like yourself would carry any tea at all."
I quietly set about making the tea for a few moments, then looked up at him. "Sergeant Hakamura, when in another man's camp, and he being senior to you in military rank, is it honorable to insult him?"
Hakamura looked at me quizzically for a moment. "Are you senior? I don't know what a Senior Chief is."
I looked back at him and grinned slightly "It is the equivalent of an Army First Sergeant."
He looked up, stood, bowed, and said "My apologies. I am shamed both for not knowing your rank, and for having to be reminded of my manners. It has been several years since anyone has been here who would know or care."
"I spent some time in Japan while in the Navy. I learned to know and honor your culture, though I am afraid that due to my size and coloration I have all too often heard that word." I handed him the cup of tea, gestured at the ground, and sipped my coffee. It was already getting cold. Damn. I sat quietly for a few moments waiting to see if Hakamura was going to say anything. He was just as diligently sipping tea and waiting for me. After placing another branch on the fire, I looked back up and said "Your speech and manner harkens from another age."
"And yet, you seem to be familiar with it."
"I have been an amateur historian for many years."
"I think that there was not much history in this area."
He wasn't going to be the first to be rude and ask what I wanted, obviously. And I didn't want to push too fast either. All right, let's try this then:
"It was in country much like this that I came to be infected. About sixteen years ago, I was hunting elk up in the Cascades. Not far off Highway Twelve, on the east slopes of Mount Rainier. I was already in the Navy, and since my submarine was going to be in port for elk season that year; I took some leave, and took advantage of it. I pitched my tent up off a spike road and was working the east drainage, looking for elk that had been driven down the mountain by the weather. On the third day, I found one. He was a beauty, a large rag horn, four by five. He probably ended up going six hundred pounds, but I never got to find out." I paused for a sip of coffee before it froze altogether.
Hakamura raised an eyebrow and asked "How so?"
"Well, I eased my rifle up; it was about a two hundred yard shot across a small clear cut. I had taken the safety off, and was just squeezing the trigger when a large cougar jumped on the elk's back. I didn't have enough time to shift aim. I shot the cat straight through the lungs. The bullet went on to hit the elk, and probably killed it, though not right away. I had other things to worry about though. That damned cat got up, and proceeded to charge me. I was in such shock that I just stood there. I had heard of 'Thropes before, Hel, who hadn't? But I had never seen one that I knew of. I didn't even realize that was what I was seeing, I was so surprised. The cat ran right over the top of me. He got me with his claws on the way over. I don't think it was intentional, just sort of happened. Well, I guess he was still bleeding, but I didn't have time to notice, because the biggest cougar I had ever seen was running right over the top of me. He got me pretty bad, and I don't remember much more of it, except bits and pieces of the hike down to my truck and the drive to the hospital."
"I take it the hospital did not realize that you were infected?"
"Oh, sure, they woke me up the next day and told me the results of the Chaney test."
"It would be interesting to hear how you escaped."
"Huh?" Yes, I know, that was a rude comment, but at the time, I couldn't think of what he was talking about.
"How you escaped confinement."
Then it hit me. This guy, maybe all of them, had been up here longer than the Civil Rights Acts had been around or just shortly thereafter, when they were still finding ways around it.
"There was no confinement. Oh, they offered to place me in a hospice, but it wasn't mandatory. I didn't even have to leave the Navy, though I did have to transfer off my submarine."
"Of that I am not surprised. I cannot think that the Navy would want someone who must change form on a ship so small."
"Oh, they allow 'Thropes on Boats, just only on Boomers."
He looked at me quizzically and asked "Excuse, please. What is a 'Boomer'?"
Oh, yeah, he wouldn't know the slang, I thought. Duh. "A Boomer is a Fleet Ballistic Missile sub. They carry nuclear missiles."
"So, our country allows Lycanthropes on submarines with nuclear bombs? Amazing."
"They found out that we don't have to shift if we're more than one hundred fifty feet under water. The Boomers generally stay deeper than two hundred fifty feet anyway when on patrol, so it's easy."
"And they can stay under for the complete full moon?"
"They stay under for the complete ninety-day patrol. From the time they dive off the Straits of Juan de Fuca, until they surface ninety day later."
"This is amazing. What powers such a submarine? How do you breathe?"
Gods these guys had been up here forever, I thought. "They use a nuclear reactor, and make their own air, by breaking down sea water into oxygen and hydrogen, then dumping the hydrogen overboard."
"Truly, we live in a wondrous time. Were we at war at this time, that they allowed you to stay in the Navy?"
"Oh, no. Well, technically, we were in the middle of something called the cold war, but that didn't count. Recruiting was way up. Hel, they were turning away more volunteers than they were accepting for submarines. About one in five that volunteered made it to the boats." I paused for just a second. "You never heard about the Civil Rights Acts, did you?"
He looked at me, and waved his hand in a way that suggested I go on.
"In a series of laws from 1964 through 1969, the federal government made it illegal to discriminate in any way; based on color, creed, national origin, physical or medical handicap. That includes Lycanthropy, or any other preternatural disease." I quoted from my old high school course.
"I see that things have changed since I have moved up here."
I bent over to start another pot of water, and tended the fire, hoping he would continue; in a moment he did.
"I joined the United States Army in 1943." Good gods, I thought, He's a fucking World War II vet. He continued "I have followed the Okutsu family for some time. When the only son joined the army, I joined too, to watch over him. He was very angry. Very desperate to prove his honor and his loyalty to a country that doubted it greatly. They sent us from eastern Washington, where they had moved our families at the start of the war, to a place called Camp Shelby, in Mississippi. It was not a good time. There were problems between those of us from the mainland, and those who were from the territory of Hawaii. It almost came to full combat several times. Eventually we figured out that the enemy was overseas, not in the barracks next to us, but it took a while."
After a pause to sip his tea and stare into the fire for a second, he continued. "Eventually they sent us overseas. The first groups to go were all Buddha-heads that had been in the Army before the war. They had been forced out of the Army after the attack on Pearl Harbor. They made up the 100th infantry battalion. Yukio and I were sent out about six months later as some of the replacements for men that had not made it. The trip over to Europe on the troop ship was one I would like to forget. We met up with the 100th in Sicily, just before the assault on Monte Cassino. It was there that I first found out how bad modern war was. We watched men blown apart by artillery shells, by hand grenades, and by all other manner of violence. I saw one of our officers receive a direct hit by a heavy machine gun. It was an amazing sight. Somehow we both survived that assault, and the ones thereafter. We went t
hrough the entire European war with only a few minor wounds. I was hit once by a bullet that I did not see coming. Yukio was hit by shrapnel twice, from near-miss mortars that I could not shelter him from."
He paused again for a second drink of tea. By this time I was completely enraptured. Here was a man who was involved in some of the most horrific battles of the most horrific war the world has ever seen, and he was willing to talk to me about it. For a few minutes I forgot why I was here. I forgot where here was. I even forgot that I was supposed to figure out who and what this guy was; I just wanted to hear the story. After a swallow or two he started up again. "During our last major action of the war, I was called away from Yukio. One of our Lieutenants had been wounded and I was helping to stabilize him, and send him to the rear. Thus I could not stop Yukio from crawling forward under machine gun fire during the assault on Mount Belvedere. This was part of the so-called Gothic line of fortifications in the Southern Alps. We had been pinned down by the guns that wounded the Lieutenant. There was enough broken rock to hide behind, but moving forward was almost impossible. Yet somehow Yukio decided to do just that. He crawled forward under the fire of two mutually supporting machine guns, and threw hand grenades into the bunkers of first one, then the other. He captured some of the crew of the second gun, and then went on to capture a third emplacement that was overlooking the first two. During that assault, he was hit in the helmet by a bullet, but it did not penetrate, it just dazed him for a few moments. After he captured the third gun, I caught up to him, and asked him what he thought he was doing. He just looked at me and answered, 'My job.' We spent the next few weeks on that series of ridges, but it never got quite that bad again."
"Then we went home. That was when I learned that I had failed in my duty. In watching out for the son, I had failed to watch out for the family. The son had not needed me, he survived without me on the dangerous task that fate handed him. The family had not; they died of a fever while we were overseas. Yukio was numb. He rejoined the Army, saying he had nowhere else to go, so, I went with him. We were medically retired in 1954. Yukio because of frostbite, and battle fatigue from his second war. I convinced them that they should retire me at the same time. We came up here to heal, having heard that there were some other men who lived away from the world, until they could become whole again. We never left; Yukio never will. Now my family to watch over is these men. I owe it to them for being here for Yukio when the world was not."
Keeping The Faith (John Fisher Chronicles Book 2) Page 14
