by Dave Edlund
“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.
“We have a bigger problem. Those freakish Sasquatch things are about to overrun our position. We’re spread too thin already.”
Bull knew his commander was right. They couldn’t spare the manpower to get Peter, Todd, Gary and Ethan to a safe location.
“All right,” Jim said. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’ll join Coyote and we’ll split to the right, drawing off some of the fire. Ghost, Magnum, and Homer will pull back—if those hairy bastards pursue we’ll flank ‘em.”
Bull nodded. “You and Coyote will draw fire to allow our guys to retreat and form up on my position here.”
“That’s the plan. Then you get these men off the ridge and down to the camp ASAP.”
“You and Coyote can’t hold them off for long; they’re gonna break through,” Bull protested.
“We’re going to buy time. After you get to camp, your job is to stabilize and treat the wounded. That will leave Ghost, Homer, and Magnum to prep the Dillon for action. I want it in position with a second box of ammo. Put Magnum on the Dillon, got it? I want it ready to rock and roll in five minutes.”
Each box of ammunition for the Dillon Gatling gun contained 4,400 rounds of ammunition. That would buy them a couple minutes at most with the Dillon capable of chewing through ammunition at the rate of 3,000 shots per minute.
“Give your shotgun to Homer and tell him and Ghost to load up with frags, got it? Between the minigun and explosive rounds for the shotguns, we’ll turn the tide to our side.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“We’ll hold them off long enough for you to get set. When we come running down the ridge to the camp, I want you guys to smoke all of ‘em. Got it? Cut them down with everything you got and don’t stop shooting until every last one of the mutant mothers is either down and dead or you’re out of ammo!”
Bull was still nodding as Jim rose to his feet and sprinted back into the battle.
Chapter 31
Darfur
June 14 0450 hours
For the first time since the battle started, Jim knew his team was at risk of being wiped out. There was no backup to call in, no air support, and they were losing ground to the enemy. Seeing Hamaad dead and the other civilians seriously wounded shocked Jim into a new reality—they had to retreat and regroup.
Jim was issuing orders over the squad net as he was running toward the fight. He stopped every dozen steps to fire well-aimed shots at the enemy
“Coyote. I’m coming up… 30 yards to your right. Pull back to my position and find some cover. Ghost, Homer, Magnum… give Coyote covering fire.”
“Roger that.”
The Homothals didn’t give ground easily, and Jim was constantly cutting left and right, occasionally diving for the ground to avoid being hit by return fire.
“What’s the plan, Boss Man?” Homer asked, his voice coming in loud and clear through the miniature speaker in Jim’s ear.
“We’ll draw most of their fire and the three of you are to retreat to the big boulders where Bull is. We’ve got four wounded, one KIA. Pull back to the camp. Bull knows the plan.” The entire SGIT team heard the order, and they struggled to extract themselves from the fighting.
Jim took the last fifteen strides to a rock out-cropping as fast as he could. The rock projected two feet above the surrounding dirt and formed a shallow vee. Each leg of the vee was six to eight feet long, and Jim reasoned this would be the best defensive position for he and Coyote to make a stand. Moments later Coyote slid behind the rock next to his commander.
“What’s the situation?” Coyote asked.
“I caught movement over there.” Jim motioned discretely with his hand. “I think there are at least four; they’re using the terrain and shadows to mask their movement.”
All of Jim’s team had slipped off their NVGs once the enemy merged on their position and the hand-to-hand combat commenced. Even now, Jim opted not to put the goggles back on since an attack could materialize from almost any direction.
Coyote strained to see any enemy combatants. “That’s where me and Homer saw two men in uniform. Maybe the platoon leader?”
“I’d like to get my hands on one of them,” Jim said.
“With all due respect, sir, they aren’t showing any signs of giving up. And we’re getting pretty low on ammo.”
“Understood. We only need to hold them off for five minutes. Then we’re going to high tail it back down off this ridge and lead our friends here to a surprise back at camp.”
Coyote’s grin was cut short by a bullet strike against the rock near his head. “Something tells me that five minutes is going to seem like hours.”
Jim quickly fired off three shots just to keep the aggressors at bay. “Just stay down. As long as we keep them pinned down the rest of the team can fall back; we have nothing to worry about.”
s
Commander Nicolaou could not have been more mistaken. Lieutenant Li and Sergeant Wong rallied the remaining five Homothals and were preparing to charge the rock behind which lay Coyote and Boss Man.
“They are running out of ammunition,” Lieutenant Li surmised. “That is why only two men have remained behind.”
“We can rush their position,” Sergeant Wong suggested.
Li nodded in agreement. “Colonel Ming ordered that we bring back prisoners. We will split our force. Send two Homothals to flank the left and two to flank the right. That will both draw and split their fire. Then you and I and the remaining Homothal will charge up the front.
“Make certain the Homothals understand; we want to take these men alive.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Sergeant Wong.
To avoid being seen, the two Homothal teams pulled back from their commanders and split so they could flank their enemy’s position. They stayed well behind the protective ridge lip and circled 50 yards before cautiously crawling to the crest of the ridge. There, both teams observed the remaining enemy occasionally firing single shots at the location they had left only moments before.
The four Homothals rushed towards Boss Man and Coyote, brandishing their automatic rifles, firing at the enemy but deliberately missing. This was a calculated maneuver to draw fire away from Lieutenant Li, Sergeant Wong and the remaining Homothal—and it worked.
“Shit!” exclaimed Coyote as he turned to his right to face the two Homothals bearing down on his position. He fired two quick shots from the Barrett, but both missed their mark. Adjusting his position, he aimed again and fired. The bolt remained open as the last spent casing was ejected from the rifle. This time, the massive bullet struck home, smashing into the left upper arm of the furthest Homothal. The impact was marked by a spray of blood and tissue, and the arm dangled limp, held in place by only two strips of tendon and skin. Unabated, the creature continued charging forward, holding its rifle in the right hand and firing continuously.
Jim turned his attention to the left flank; two Homothals suddenly appeared less than a hundred yards away. They moved at blinding speed across the uneven rocky terrain. He admired their strength and endurance, even as he hated their machine-like drive.
Firing single shots to conserve his limited ammo, Boss Man wa
s finding it very hard to connect with the Homothals as they randomly darted left and right, steadily closing the gap. Yet as they drew closer, they also became easier to hit.
Coyote abandoned his empty rifle and was drawing his Beretta when the closest Homothal, only seven yards away launched itself into the air and pounced on Coyote. Landing heavily, the Homothal knocked the gun out of Coyote’s hand and brought the butt of its rifle crashing down onto Coyote’s nose and cheek.
Jim heard the sickly crunch of cartilage and bone breaking.
Turning, he fired a short burst at point blank range into the Homothal’s chest. It stumbled backwards and tried to raise its weapon. Jim pulled the trigger again; the magazine was empty. In a rage, he swung the rifle at the beast, the full force landing squarely across mouth and nose. The pain was intense, and the Homothal dropped its weapon, raising both hands to its face before it fell backwards and died, never uttering a sound.
Jim was immediately overwhelmed by the two Homothals charging the left flank. He swung wildly to free himself from the grip of one of the monsters. Then he kicked viciously at the second creature’s groin, his boot making solid contact. This gave him the two seconds needed to pull his side arm from the holster on his thigh. He fired repeatedly at the Homothal he had just kicked. It took four rounds before the savage brute finally went down.
As Jim turned, the other Homothal was on him again, angling to get its thick muscular arm around Jim’s neck. Struggling to free himself, yet not willing to lose his grip on his pistol, Jim slammed backwards with his elbow. He felt a solid hit to the rib cage, but to no effect. In desperation, he aimed the pistol down behind his own leg, hoping he could hit the foot or leg of his attacker. He fired… no reaction. Again he fired, this time with effect. The bullet must have hit something and the Homothal loosened its iron grip around Jim’s neck, allowing him to break the chokehold.
Jim rounded on the Homothal with a sweeping kick, knocking it to the ground. He raised the pistol to finish the job, but before he could pull the trigger a massive weight slammed into his shoulders, propelling him into the ground. Jim tried to get to his feet, but was halted by a punishing blow between his shoulder blades. He realized the pistol was no longer in his grasp.
Another blow landed on his back, knocking the air from his lungs. If this beating continued much longer, his spine would fracture.
As suddenly as it began, the pounding ceased. Jim forced air into his lungs and became conscious of a voice… not English… maybe Chinese or Korean. He wasn’t sure. He felt a strong grip under his arms lift him from the ground and pull his face from the sandy dirt.
Standing now, he faced a uniformed man.
“I am Lieutenant Li and this is Sergeant Wong,” the man said in reasonable English.
“You are our prisoner. You will come with me. If you resist, my soldiers will kill you. Is that understood?”
Jim looked at the two men’s faces and then at the three Homothals surrounding him—one with an arm nearly shot off, blood dripping off its limp fingers. Slowly he nodded agreement.
Pointing toward Coyote’s motionless body, Jim said, “This man needs medical attention.”
Li looked toward the nearest Homothal, standing next to Coyote’s prone body. Using only the most subtle expression of his eyes, Li communicated his order. The Homothal lowered the muzzle of its rifle and fired a single bullet into Coyote’s head.
Jim spun with lightning speed and threw his body into the Homothal that had fired the shot. The two fell to the ground, Jim on top and pounding the monster’s face to a bloody pulp.
Quickly the other two Homothals restrained Jim’s arms and hauled him to his feet.
“You son of a bitch! You murdered him! He was out of action and you knew that!”
“We are engaged in combat… surely you knew that.”
“He was no threat!”
“Silence!” screamed Li.
Jim felt the anger boiling inside. Yet he also knew he must restrain his fury. For now he would wait, and he drew strength from the certain knowledge that when the opportunity presented itself, he would avenge Coyote’s murder.
“Now… we will return to my base where we will question you. If you resist in any way, we will kill you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Abundantly.” The sarcasm in Jim’s voice was unmistakable, despite the language barriers.
Chapter 32
Darfur
June 14 0555 hours
Jim recognized the medical dissection lab. He was standing with his arms held in place behind his back by the two uninjured Homothals who had captured him less than an hour ago.
The wounded Homothal had bled to death on the march back down from the ridge. The creature collapsed beside the trail, and no one even paused to consider recovering its body—leaving it instead for desert scavengers to consume.
Minutes after Jim was escorted into the dissection lab, a senior officer entered. His uniform was Chinese army, sharply pressed, and his rank signified colonel. Lieutenant Li engaged in a conversation with the ranking officer, and it was clear to Jim that the Colonel was not happy with the Lieutenant.
Abruptly the conversation stopped, and the Colonel moved close to square his body directly in front of Jim.
“Who are you?” he asked, his English heavily accented but understandable.
“I am Commander James Nicolaou of the Strategic Global Intervention Team.” Ming had already noticed the SGIT insignia patch on the left shoulder of Jim’s uniform and the American flag on the right shoulder.
The Colonel nodded. “I am not familiar with your organization; perhaps we will have time to discuss that later. But first, you will tell me what business you have here.”
Jim glared intently at the Colonel but didn’t answer.
“I asked you a question, Commander. What is the nature of your business here?”
“I heard you,” Jim responded. He continued staring at the Colonel. Then it came to him, he had seen this face before, only it was the face of a much younger man.
“You’re Colonel Ming, aren’t you?”
Colonel Ming was surprised to be recognized.
“Yes, I thought so,” Jim continued. “It took me a minute… the photo I saw must have been taken fifteen, maybe eighteen years ago. But it is you.”
Ming considered Jim, weighing his thoughts and formulating his reply. “Yes, I am Ming. I command this research facility.”
“What heinous experiments are you up to this time, Ming?” Jim demanded.
Sergeant Wong immediately punched Jim in the stomach, causing him to double over in pain. “You will speak respectfully to Colonel Ming!”
“Sure, whatever you say Charlie.” Jim was gasping for breath. He slowly righted himself.
“I am asking the questions here, Commander. You would be wise to remember that. Please explain what you were doing inside my facility.”
“Had I known you were in charge of this chamber of horrors, I wouldn’t have bothered investigating. I would have simply radioed in an air strike and enjoyed a good night’s sleep.”
“I grow weary with your arrogance, Commander Nicolaou.” Ming nodded to one of the Homothals. A knife appeared from nowhere and the creature pressed it against Jim’s throat, drawing a narrow crimson line of blood.
Jim pursed his lips.
“Commander, I know you infiltrated my facility. You also sent a message—a rather lengthy message—to someone. Who? Associates of yours? The Pentagon?”
Jim remained silent. The knife pressed harder against his throat and the trickle of blood increased.
“I can trace the message Commander. My technicians have already begun the process. It takes time, though… time that I’d rather not invest. So, you will tell me. Who did you communicate with?”
“Why should I help you?”
Ming’s mouth drew wide in a smile that was not reflected in his eyes; they remained cold and hard. “Because I will kill you if you don’t answer my questions tr
uthfully.”
“You’ll kill me whether I answer your questions or not.”
Ming glanced at Lieutenant Li as the smile slowly faded from his face. He turned back to face Jim. “Yes, I suppose you are right.” He folded his arms across his chest. “But how you die should be of interest, don’t you think?”
Jim swallowed despite the knife pressing into the flesh of his throat. He had been in tight spots before, but this was new. He had been stripped of his weapons and was being held by super-human creatures.
“What if I do answer your questions?” Jim asked, buying time.
“Your demise will be swift and relatively painless.” Colonel Ming glanced at the Homothal and the knife dug, ever so slightly, deeper into Jim’s throat, causing Jim to wince.
“Dead is dead. I don’t see any real benefit to helping you.”
“Ah. But that is where you are mistaken. See, I can just as easily turn you over to my soldiers whom you have already met on the battlefield. You have seen their animal behavior. Trust me; they are not handicapped by a conscience, as are most men.”
It was working; Ming was beginning to open up.
“Whatever these things are,” said Jim, “they’re not men.”
“Yes! Do you realize how correct your statement is? These creations are the result of decades of brilliant work!” Ming’s eyes widened with excitement.
“You’re delusional,” Jim taunted.
“Delusional? You have no idea. My soldiers—we call them Homothals—are my creation, and mine alone! No one can achieve what I have accomplished.”
“Really? These things are nothing more than a grotesque deformity. A circus sideshow—freaks—that’s all.”
Ming leaned forward and shouted at Jim, spraying spittle in his face. “I have created a new species! A new life form!”
Colonel Ming turned in a circle, collecting his thoughts. When he turned to face Jim again, the fire that lit his eyes only moments earlier had dissipated.
“I have gathered ancient DNA from a mummified Neanderthal body found near Gibraltar. Just tiny amounts that were later multiplied ten-million times in my lab. Once I had sufficient quantities of Neanderthal DNA, I transferred that genetic material into the cellular structure of common viruses, seeking just the right host.”
