Crimson Strike

by Peter Bostrom

  “Maybe not,” I said. “If those are actual werewolves and vampires, then they could be looking for people to infect.”

  “Werewolves? Vampires? Infect?” Stanton asked. “I don’t follow.”

  I exhaled, not knowing where to start. I glanced over at Kovac, who gave me a curt nod. I tilted my head forward and shook my head. I was hoping there was some way I could get Stanton to think I was capable—or at least sane—enough to trust me. But if we had any hope in defeating the Dominion, I was going to have to address the dragon in the room.

  “Um . . . yeah, I’m pretty sure the hairy monsters are werewolves and the pale ones are vampires.”

  Stanton arched an eyebrow. “And you know this … how?”

  “Well, I’m not so sure the Dominion are ‘aliens’ like everyone says they are.” I scratched my head. “So far, they’ve been a lot like these characters I used to read about when I was a kid. Werewolves are sort of a human-wolf hybrid and vampires—well, they can turn into wolves too, sometimes. And bats. And . . . also mist?”

  The lieutenant stared at me. “Anyway,” I continued, “the stories say they feed on humans. Or, at least the vampires definitely do. Werewolves are kind of a mixed bag. But both can infect other people with their condition, usually by biting them. At least, that’s what the stories say.”

  Stanton finally spoke. “So, you think those . . . things out there might have gone off looking for victims?”

  I nodded. “Yes—somewhere with more people and fewer plasma weapons. That’s why I think it might be just fine to leave Rand here at the transport with Lopez to keep an eye out for Dominion troopers—of any kind.”

  Stanton opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Rand cleared his throat and said, “Sir, if I may—Sergeant Walker has a prescient ability to understand these entities the Dominion has been sending through into our world. Deferring to his ideas—as outlandish as they sound—was what sustained us on Pluto and quite possibly preserved the United Federation of Sol. If Walker is of the opinion that Lopez will provide sufficient cover for my repairs, then I’m confident I’ll be fine.”

  There was a lengthy pause as Stanton looked at Rand, then up at Lopez, then over at me. “Very well,” he said. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

  I fist bumped Rand as Stanton checked on the two wounded soldiers before moving to the rear and slowly opening the back door. He peeked around the corner, his neck as stiff as a cheap action figure. He quietly dropped to the ground with a leveled gun and swept the area before looking back at Kovac and me. Then, with a quick tilt of his head toward the park, the three of us crept into the shadows where the werewolves had disappeared.

  9

  THE THREE OF us moved together in a tight cluster, Stanton and Kovac leading the way forward with their plasma weapons drawn. I covered our rear with my not-yet-activated rod-sword—just in case the glow would give us away. The closer we came to the park, the easier it was to hear the screams of terrified humans and inhuman snaps and snarls. It sounded like an animal shelter gone bad. Very bad.

  We doubled our pace and soon stepped out of the park’s narrow entry path into a wide clearing. In the center of the park was a smattering of old, mostly rusty playground equipment—a couple of slides, a merry-go-round that could fit eight children comfortably, and a row of see-saws, all of which were surrounded by several metal swing sets.

  At the far end of the clearing, just beyond these play toys, stood a large metal frame that looked like a giant had torn the flesh off a chubby spaceship’s body, leaving only its skeleton. And inside the rounded metal skeleton, a group of civilians crowded together. Pieces of metal and synthetic wood jutted out from this structure, held by several adults who, in turn, were surrounding a group of small, crying children.

  The gray werewolves we’d seen were both pacing around the metal frame, while the two Dominion troopers in eggshell-white armor tried reaching inside to grab hold of the civilians. To their credit, the civilians had kept the troopers from getting a firm hold of any one person. The taller of the two troopers was hit in the helmet by a stick and had just raised a crossbow at the huddled group when we arrived.

  Stanton fired. A dull blue streak shot through the air and struck the metal frame near its top, sending bring sparks showering down. The trigger-happy trooper jerked backward and dropped his crossbow. The other trooper quickly stepped in front of his partner and raised a faintly glowing purple arm shield. The two gray werewolves—which I could now see were a male and a female—growled and turned toward us, too. What was this, Dominion date night?

  A child’s ear-piercing cry snapped me back into focus. Nobody messes with little kids. Especially not quasi-mythical beings from some other world who seem bent on conquering ours.

  It was about time for some paranormal ass-whooping.

  In my mind, I sounded a single, booming note and my sword burst into a bright yellow glow.

  In response, the now crossbow-less Dominion trooper unsheathed a sword of his own—only this sword was about half as long as mine and glowed red.

  Stanton and Kovac opened fire at the enemy combatants, but now both of the troopers’ shields were up and deflecting plasma bolts. The werewolves darted away from the troopers and weaved their ways between the empty swing sets to my left.

  “Keep the troopers pinned down,” I said loudly to Stanton and Kovac. “I’ll take care of the werewolves.”

  “Lieutenant, shouldn’t we rather—” Stanton started, but when the werewolves began bounding toward us on all fours, I immediately sprinted to meet them, my sword trailing wisps of light.

  I reached my gloved left hand toward the wolves, summoned a heavy beat of drums and electric guitar, and pulled at one of the swing set chains between us. The length of chained link immediately snapped loose from the frame and straightened across the path of the werewolves.

  The chain stopped their front paws, while their rear legs kept pushing them forward, causing the furry beasts to tumble end over end and kick up a spray of the dark shredded rubber that covered the ground.

  I leapt forward, my sword making a bright arc across the air and brought it down forcefully toward the female wolf who had fallen closer to me. At the very last moment, she scrambled out of the way and the end of my sword sunk into the ground with a hiss and the pungent smell of burnt rubber.

  The male werewolf had landed next to a see saw, his hind quarters just above the seat that was resting on the ground.

  I summoned the orange gem’s music again and yanked down on the opposite end of the see saw that was suspended in the air. As it sped downward, the other side beneath the werewolf shot up, nailing the wolf’s rear with a satisfying clang. The creature yelped in surprise and went flying into the air.

  I was about to laugh when I heard a low growl to my right and saw the female werewolf crouching, about to pounce. Apparently, smacking a werewolf in the ass was a big no-no in their culture. I gripped my sword’s hilt with both hands and yanked it out of the ground like a young King Arthur—though not quite as triumphant, since it was my fault the sword was stuck there in the first place. And God, what I wouldn’t give for a Merlin right about now.

  I swung the newly freed sword around, but too high. The wolf had leapt low, landed on her front hands—or paws, or were-hands, or whatever the hell they’re called—and swung her legs forward, nailing me in the stomach. I fell backward onto the rubbery ground, out of breath, but still gripping my sword. The werewolf bared her needle-sharp teeth in a grin as she gathered herself for a final strike.

  She leapt, and in an act of desperation, I summoned my purple stone’s heroic music and imagined a giant, silver-gauntleted hand slapping at the werewolf. She stopped in midair for a split second and was then launched backward in a blur of gray until she came crashing down onto the merry-go-round.

  I staggered to my feet and, with the orange stone’s power, I tried imagining the same shining gauntlet. However, since I could feel my stomach begin to rumble, I w
as only able to picture a metal oven mitt.

  Damn you, Lopez.

  I imagined the medium-sized, disembodied mitt tugging sharply at the merry-go-round’s outer rails. This sent the piece of child’s equipment spinning quickly. The werewolf grasped at the railing to steady herself, but couldn’t get much of a hold. After a few impossibly fast rotations, I used the purple stone’s power to make my imaginary mitt flick the spinning werewolf away from the merry-go-round. She shot away from the center and went crashing into the male wolf, who was only just recovering from his own short flight, courtesy of the see saw.

  The two forms lay tangled in a single mass of heaving gray fur, and I turned my attention quickly back to my team. About a dozen meters away, Stanton and Kovac were using a wide metal slide as a shield, which already had several arrows embedded in it. The pair of Dominion troopers, on the other hand, were using the metal structure with civilians inside for cover, which gave them a serious unfair advantage.

  I silently sprinted around the nearby swing sets, legs burning, until I had a clear view of the troopers. I slapped the side of my helmet. “Stanton, Kovac—do you copy?”

  Stanton’s shrill voice responded suddenly. “Walker, what the bloody hell are you doing?”

  “Just get ready to fire, on my mark,” I said, hoping my voice was louder than my growling stomach. I extinguished my rod-sword and rested its tip on the ground.

  “3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .”

  I summoned the beat-heavy music of my orange stone and quickly formed a thin golden lasso in my mind. I threw my arms forward and, in my imagination, the lasso landed around the area where the Dominion troopers were standing. I quickly jerked my arms apart and, into the comm, said, “NOW!”

  The two troopers were thrown off balance, and because I was running out of fuel so quickly, the troopers slid only a couple of meters sideways from behind their civilian shield and out into the open. But before they could raise their arm shields in defense, pale blue plasma slugs zipped through the air and hit their armor, knocking them backward onto the shredded rubber ground where they lay motionless.

  I doubled over, leaning against the hilt of my extinguished sword. I strained my neck to look up at the suddenly paralyzed civilians, who had gone silent and were staring at the troopers who lay on the ground beside them.

  “What are you waiting for?” I yelled to them. “Run!”

  As the civilians began squeezing out from between the rocket ship’s metal ribs, I heard snarls coming from somewhere nearby. I spun around and raised my dull yellow rod-sword just in time to stop a handful of claws from tearing through my midsection. A second swipe came from the opposite direction and I dodged it, but not quickly enough to keep the male werewolf from leaving a couple of deep gashes in my protective chest armor.

  I snapped my sword up vertically and held it in front of me as the werewolf gathered himself for another strike. As we began to circle each other, my eyes darted from side to side, searching for the shewolf.

  I spotted her as she began to bound toward the stream of civilians who were making a panicked dash away from the playground. Now that the civilians were out in the open, I saw that several of them were carrying children.

  “Kovac!” I yelled as I turned my attention back to the wolf in front of me. I blocked another sharp blow and jumped back a step. Stanton and Kovac couldn’t get a clear shot at the speeding female werewolf, not with the erratic running of the civilians. So the two Peacekeepers had to sprint toward the mass of confusion, instead.

  In two bounds, the shewolf was beside a skinny teenage boy in a checkered shirt, grabbing him around the waist and yanking him off his feet. She spun and ran off with her captive into a thick cluster of synthetic trees, howling as she went.

  The wolf facing me tilted his head, turned suddenly, and ran like—well, like a werewolf—after his companion.

  “No!” Stanton yelled. His feet were planted and he traced the monster’s path with the barrel of his rifle, but civilians kept frantically crossing into his line of fire in their desperate search for loved ones and cover.

  I dragged myself toward Stanton and Kovac, who were now helping people to their feet and telling them to lock themselves indoors. I heard several more howls from different directions ahead of me and cursed silently.

  “Walker, do you read me?” Rand’s voice came in through my helmet comm unit. “The transport is now in sufficient working order. Lopez and I are secure inside and awaiting your arrival.”

  “Roger that,” I said, tapping the side of my helmet to reply.

  Stanton and Kovac helped up an overweight, middle-aged man in a dirty blue jacket—the last of the civilians to leave the park—before Stanton responded.

  “We’ll be there in a moment,” he said.

  Another round of howls sounded, but this time they seemed louder. “It sounds like they’re coming back,” I said as I joined my teammates.

  “Then let’s get moving,” Kovac said.

  The three of us turned in the direction of the transport, but as we did, I heard a wet, muffled cough. I twisted my head around to see who it could be. All of the civilians were gone—it was just a bunch of playground equipment. And two lifeless Eggheads sprawled on the shredded rubber ground covering.

  At least, that’s what I thought.

  I heard another coughing noise as one of the troopers convulsed, then pulled himself up into a sitting position. Stanton and Kovac snapped their weapons up and I ducked behind them, unable to activate my sword.

  The Dominion trooper slowly raised a hand pathetically from the ground and, lifting his head slightly, he said in a soft, muffled voice, “Help . . . me.”

  10

  THE THREE OF us spun around and froze. Dominion troopers didn’t ask for help—they either tried blasting my ass or made a crunching noise when I did something awesome. But this trooper was not only speaking, he was pleading for help.

  “My . . . only . . . hope …” he coughed before dropping his outstretched hand and going limp.

  Something tickled the back of my mind—I’d heard that short phrase before, but where?

  “Sergeant Walker, go dispose of that,” Stanton ordered with a nod.

  I swallowed hard and I looked down at the battered trooper. His off-white armor was scarred with black near his left shoulder and he raised his opposite hand in a pathetic gesture.

  That’s when I remembered where I’d heard that phrase—it was from the original space warrior vid, and it was the reason why the hero went on his adventure and ended up saving the galaxy. And the character who uttered this simple phrase was one of the story’s greatest heroes. Like my dearly departed commander, Colonel Hiller.

  This had to mean something.

  “Sir, I’m not sure that’s the right thing to do,” I said.

  Stanton narrowed his eyes. “Of course you’re not sure—you’ve ignored nearly every order I’ve given. I don’t know why I bother.”

  He turned back toward the transport and said over his shoulder, “Private Kovac, you don’t strike me as the thinking type. Shoot the trooper.”

  I couldn’t possibly justify my actions to Stanton by referencing a largely forgotten twentieth-century vid. So I gave Kovac a pained look, instead.

  He nodded, then said, “I agree with Walker.”

  Stanton stopped in his tracks. His head dipped as he exhaled loudly. “Fine,” he said, turning around quickly and aiming his plasma rifle at the injured trooper.

  Before I knew it, the rod-sword was in my hands and glowing faintly as I stood between Stanton and the trooper. “You can’t do that,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Of course I can,” Stanton said, his normally dispassionate expression starting to crack as his jaw tightened. “Now step aside.”

  There was a brief flash of bright blue from somewhere behind me and I snapped my head to the side. Kovac’s massive frame was now next to me. His vibro-hammer was in hand and its brick-like head was glowing with a vibrant blue ener
gy. I’d gotten so used to seeing Kovac lug that hammer around over the past couple of years on Nix station that I’d almost forgotten Rand had fitted it with a small philosopher’s stone.

  And that Kovac had finally figured out how to activate it.

  Stanton’s eyes widened for a moment before narrowing dangerously. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you court martialed for insubordination.”

  I straightened my shoulders, confident that Kovac would back me up. I looked that stuck-up excuse for a lieutenant in the eyes and said, “I’ll give you two good reasons.”

  Dammit, why did I always have to one-up everyone? Now I was going to have to do twice the thinking and pray to some eldritch god that I didn’t look like an idiot.

  “First off,” I said slowly as I glanced back at the wounded Egghead. “He’s injured. And helpless.” My eyes then moved to his lifeless comrade who lay crumpled beside the trooper. “And if you shoot now, you’ll be no better than the Dominion.”

  Stanton dropped his shoulders and tilted his head to the side, clearly unimpressed. “This is war, Sergeant Walker.” He tightened his grip on the rifle.

  “And secondly . . .” I said, my mind racing. I gave a short gasp as I caught hold of an idea that now seemed so obvious I could kick myself for not thinking of it earlier. “Secondly, he probably has useful information about the Dominion.”

  I stole a look at Kovac, who gave a quick nod, then back to Stanton. His lips pressed together so tightly that they made a perfectly straight line.

  “So if this really is war,” I continued, “then intel from an enemy combatant should be worth quite a bit, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Fine,” Stanton said with a deep, weighted sigh. “If your lumbering companion can haul him to the transport without us getting ambushed by monsters.”

  Then, under his breath, he said, “God knows we have room in the transport.”

  Kovac’s vibro-hammer quickly faded from glowing blue to dull gray before he slipped it back into his makeshift holster. My sword went out, but I kept it extended in front of me as I scanned the area for werewolves, vampires, or any other supernatural creature of the night that might suddenly appear. Kovac squatted cautiously beside the trooper, his finger hovering over the trigger of his plasma gun, just in case.