Against all probability, the hooded prisoner made it out of the tent without being killed by friendly fire. The LT nodded toward the tent flap. “Wolf, Swerve, go get him.”
Both marines exited the tent. Wolf caught up as Swerve took hold of one of the fleeing prisoner’s arms. Wolf nabbed the hood by one corner and yanked it free of the man’s head. “Take it easy, pal. We’re going to get you home.”
The man’s head snapped around, fear alight in his eyes as he faced the marine. The man wore a disheveled Air Force uniform. “No. You don’t understand. We have to get out of here now.”
“You’re spooked,” Wolf said as Swerve cut the ropes that bound the pilot’s wrists behind his back. “It’s understandable. You’ve been held captive and mistreated. Don’t worry. It’s over now.”
The Air Force pilot’s blue eyes widened as he looked from Wolf to Swerve. “We have to go, now. The other one, he’s not like us.” The pilot stared over his shoulder toward the command-tent entrance.
“Hey,” Wolf said. “Just be glad we showed up to save your ass. We’ll get out of here just as soon as we regroup with the others.” He tugged the pilot toward the tent.
The pilot wrested his arm free of Wolf and held his ground. “You’re not listening.”
“Stay with him,” Wolf told Swerve. “I’ll get the others.” He moved toward the tent but the bellow of a great beast stopped him in his tracks. He had been around the world, set foot on four continents, yet this … sound was foreign to him. The hairs on the back of Wolf’s neck stood to attention as the beast’s eerie cry resounded through the marrow of his bones. Wolf faltered, then steeled himself. He motioned for Swerve to stay put then advanced on the tent. Gunfire erupted. Not the disciplined ‘one burst, one kill’ shooting he was accustomed to from his unit, either. This was wild, panic-stricken fire, the kind often heard from enemy troops when caught unaware.
Wolf readied his M16, and entered through the tent flap just in time to see Preacher impaled upon the claws of a great furred beast, the man’s weapon aimed skyward and firing, indiscriminately ripping holes through the top of the tent. Wolf froze as he took in the tableau of blood, entrails and viscera that had once made up the members of his unit. The interior of the tent was covered with bodies and gore. It must have also been from the enemy soldiers they had put down — there was just too much of it.
Hawk, Jester, Doc, and the others had been ripped apart by this beast that stood on two legs like some horrific mockery of a man. Wolf did not see the body of the second prisoner as he raised his gun toward the beast. It was naked except for a pair of tattered slacks and the remnants of boots that clung to the sides of its clawed, three-toed feet. A strip of cloth clung to one side of its neck. Beneath a pair of inset eyes that burned an unnatural amber, an elongated snout thrust forward. Jaws housed ferocious fangs sharp enough to rend flesh and bone. The blood of Wolf’s comrades staining the beast’s fangs seemed to back that theory.
Near its feet lay a pair of open silver shackles.
The beast tossed Preacher’s mangled body aside and whirled to face Wolf. Crouched on its haunches, it roared its disapproval at the intruder. Wolf thumbed his M16 to full auto and squeezed the trigger, backing out of the tent as he fired. “Die, motherfucker!”
Once outside, Wolf stepped sideways, out of sight of the doorway. “Get him out of here,” he called to Swerve, as he swapped out his empty mag for a fresh one.
“I told you. I fuckin’ told you!” Wolf heard the pilot say, panic rife in his voice.
With a sound between a bellow and a growl, the beast charged through the tent flap. “Holy shit!” yelled Swerve as she unloaded on the creature. Wolf saw the chickenshit pilot run for the perimeter while Swerve defended his hasty retreat. The beast seemed at least eight feet tall and despite the fusillade of bullets, it kept coming. Swerve goggled. The inertia of the impacts pushed the beast back and she even managed to make it bleed. But not for long. Where the creature’s flesh had been pockmarked with bullets, the damage repaired itself almost immediately. “It’s healing faster than I can hurt it,” Swerve yelled.
With a swipe of one arm, the creature batted away Swerve’s M16. She had barely managed to draw her Ka-bar by the time the beast’s claws sliced her throat on its backswing.
Swerve’s eyes widened in shock. Blood spurted. She fell to one side, maintaining a death grip on the blade. The beast raised its head to the sky and howled. It then loped after the fleeing pilot. With the tools at hand, there was no saving the pilot, Wolf knew, but if he moved quickly perhaps he might be able to do something about that.
He ducked back inside the command tent, making sure to breathe through his mouth so the stench of death within wouldn’t overwhelm his senses. He moved to the back of the tent, where the prisoners had knelt when he had first entered the tent. There, he found the silver shackles and the knife — also fashioned from silver — the enemy soldier guarding the prisoners had been wielding. Wolf slung the shackles around his neck then grabbed the silver-bladed knife.
A blood curdling scream pierced the night. It was soon cut short before it could give full voice to the depth of its pain. A howl. The pilot was dead. With the knife in one hand and the M16 cradled in his other arm, Wolf exited the tent.
The creature loped toward him, red-stained tongue dangling from its mouth. If not for its intimidating size, menacing fangs and claws, and the death and destruction the marine had witnessed this morning, Wolf might have thought it wanted to play. He took aim and unloaded into the advancing beast. As soon as he was out of bullets, he tossed the rifle aside and pulled the shackles free where he began whirling them through the air like a lasso. In his other hand he gripped the silver knife, blade outward. “Bring it, you bastard,” he said through clenched teeth.
The great beast halted before Wolf and began pacing back and forth on all fours. It growled at the marine, then raised its snout to the sky and sent forth one long howl. The two locked eyes; neither the trained military man, nor the preternatural creature willing to show a sign of weakness. It gave a ferocious growl and leapt.
Wolf slashed at the beast with the knife and was rewarded with a yelp of pain as he ducked a swipe of its claws. The two faced-off again. The beast paced before him, blood oozing from a gash that ran from its left shoulder down across its pectoral muscles. The beast growled, deep and guttural.
The silver shackle whistled through the air at Wolf’s side. “Rethinking your strategy, now, aren’t you, you furry fuck?”
The beast feigned a leap then slashed at Wolf with one clawed paw. Wolf anticipated the strike, sidestepping as he looped the shackle’s chain around the beast’s arm. Wolf yanked on the ends of the shackles, ensnaring the creature. It howled in pain as its flesh began to smoke beneath the silver. The creature swiped wildly with its free paw, but Wolf dodged the careless strikes easily.
In a desperate move, the creature pulled its trapped arm inward. The silver chain bit through the flesh, severing it midway between elbow and wrist. The beast howled in agony as Wolf took a step back. This time, the force of the creature’s soul-shattering wail nearly knocked Wolf off his feet. His breathing was labored. “That was for Swerve, you piece of shit.”
When the beast dived at him again, Wolf timed his own jump perfectly, flying over the creature and latching onto its back. He drove the blade into its eye, holding tight to its neck as it bucked and swayed. Grasping the blade and using it as a pinion, Wolf swung the silver shackle around the creature’s neck like a metal collar, before releasing his hold on the knife handle and grasping the other end of silver links.