On land, Oleksandr could probably crush his shoulder without straining. In the water, with his fear of drowning, he couldn’t exert as much pressure. It was enough, though, to hurt Aiden. Aiden could feel his bones grate as the pain fought against his consciousness. He didn’t have long, he realized.
I’m sorry, Claire, he thought. I tried!
His cry to Claire snapped his mind into focus. There was still a small chance, tiny, but there. He wrapped his left arm around Oleksandr’s neck despite the ruin of his shoulder, and with his right, he reached down, searching. Oleksandr seemed to take the change as a chance to make for the edge of the canal, probably hoping to gain the bottom where he could then turn around and finish Aiden off.
Through the pain and buffeting, Aiden’s questing hands came up empty. He tried again, reaching inside his cargo pocket. His hands closed on his target just as Oleksandr’s feet found the mud at the bottom of the canal. With a roar, the big werewolf struggled a step further, trying to get his head out of the water.
He slipped on the mud and fell back, almost dislodging Aiden, but with another burst of effort, he made it up on the mud bank, only chest deep in the dark water. Without fear of drowning, he reached back to pull Aiden in front of him, jaws open to end the young Marine’s life.
Aiden brought the silver knife in his hand down, burying it in Oleksandr’s neck.
If the big varg had been loud before, this roar was a magnitude greater. The little knife didn’t go in deep, but it did damage. Aiden pulled it back out, plunging it in deeper. Blood spurted, drenching him. Oleksandr tried to hold him off, tried to get away. All that did was make him slip in the mud and fall, head going under.
Aiden clung like a leech, stabbing over and over. Oleksandr lashed out in panic, the first couple of blows nearly decapitating the Marine. Quickly, though, the blows lost power and focus. Aiden wasn’t there, though. He was someplace else, an animal, a killer. Not a varg but something deeper, more bestial. This was the ape on the African savannah, newly down from the trees, killing the feared leopard for the first time.
Twenty, thirty, forty times, he plunged the knife. With one final spasm of defiance, a huge hand came out of the water to come down on the back of Aiden’s head, and blackness took over.
Chapter 43
Hozan felt the next shifts, two of them. Without regard to the consequences, he shifted straight to wolf, tripping on his clothes until he could kick them off. People on the street shouted and got out of his way. Hozan only hoped they would think he was some sort of big dog.
He flew through the city, homing in on Aiden. He could feel the turmoil in the air and knew combat had been engaged. There was no way he could reach Aiden in time. He jumped a food cart, causing the vendor to scream curses at him, seemingly unaware that even dogs could not run that fast.
He was close when a huge roar filled the air. Was that a victory roar? Hozan felt panic as he ran, afraid Aiden was already gone. Just like that, a presence flicked out. Hozan didn’t know how he knew it, just that he did. A member of the tribe had just died.
He slowed down as he came out of the buildings and out onto a canal. He focused on the water, and there, below him, a body floated, face down. He couldn’t help it; he raised his head and howled his anguish. He would extract revenge another time, but now he had to grieve.
“Hozan? Is that you?”
A voice below him called up. He looked directly below where Aiden, head barely out of the water, clung to the edge of the canal. Joy filled him, and he jumped up and down like a pup. He looked out at the body floating, and using his nose instead of his eyes, realized that it was Losenko. Somehow, impossibly, Aiden had killed the assassin.
“Am I dreaming? You look like a real wolf,” Aiden said, his voice slurred.
Hozan only then remembered that Aiden didn’t know about this capability. He started to shift to a varg when voices reached him, American voices, coming quickly towards the canal. He got ready to change back to human before they arrived, then wondered how he would explain his nakedness. With a mental laugh, he danced back and disappeared down another alley.
Aiden was alive!
Chapter 44
Major Todd Feltzer stared at the Marine sitting before him. This was the second time in two days that he’d been in on a debrief of the recon Marine, and if anything, this one topped the previous one.
LCpl Kaas sat before them, calm and collected. He was a scruffy-looking Marine, the kind of person who you’d figure was either on Welfare or working minimum wage at a 7-11. He did not look like the warrior that was obviously inside him. He tried to suppress a shudder as he recalled the sight of the man Kaas had killed. There were 56 stab wounds on the body, all done with a small, ornamental knife. This wasn’t just a killing, it was a mauling. The fact that this smallish, dorky-looking Marine had killed his huge attacker boggled the mind.
COL Gebhart, the brigade commander, asked, “Why did you go alone? And why without your weapon?”
This was Marine business, but the colonel was the senior officer in Ramadi, and when the MEF wanted answers, he took it upon himself to come over the river to run the debrief. Of course, that meant that LtCol Freitag, the Marine battalion commander, and Col DeMorrisey, the CAG representative to the Al Anbar governor, were also there. Todd was merely an afterthought, even if it was normally up to Lieutenant Holloway, the battalion S2, and him to conduct debriefs.
“It just seemed like the thing to do, sir,” Kaas said calmly.
There was something more there, something hidden. Todd wondered what it was. Maybe it was just shock. He’d been pulled out of the canal almost unconscious, even if he had seemed to have made a surprising recovery since then.
“We’ve read the note you had in your pocket, of course, but still, it could have been a trick, right?” Col DeMorrisey asked.
The Marine colonel was actually senior to the Army brigade commander, but he was in a support billet while COL Gebhart was in a command billet and thereby in charge. Todd thought, though, that Col DeMorrisey was trying to take over the debrief.
“Well, it was a trick, if you think about it. There was only one of them,” COL Gebhart said.
“I didn’t know if the orphanage had been rigged to blow. I didn’t know how many of them were out there. And as it turned out that there was only one person, I thought I could take him out before he could call in mortars or anything else,” Kaas said as if stating the obvious.
“You thought you could take out that monster? Without your weapon?” the CO asked. “Did you see the size of him?”
“Begging the colonel’s pardon, sir, but I did take him out.”
That shut up everyone for a moment. Despite his complete departure from proper procedures, this young Marine had succeeded. He had killed, in hand-to-hand combat, what looked to be a foreign agent. He had probably kept some sort of attack on the orphanage from happening. In many ways, there wasn’t much else to say about the matter.
The two colonels went on for a while more, but they were just beating a dead horse. Some things didn’t quite add up with Kaas’ story, but Todd wasn’t even sure he wanted to know the details. Finally, even the colonels knew it was over.
They both came forward to shake his hand, the Army colonel saying, “Well, LCpl Kaas, what say you leave some of the fighting for us over at the brigade. Much more of you, and there won’t be anything left for us to do.”
Todd, Holloway, and Gunny Despirito, there as the acting recon platoon commander, dutifully laughed, even if it wasn’t that funny.
With the colonels gone, Todd said, “Well, that’s that. Let’s get out of here. LCpl Kaas, thanks for your time. Good job today.”
The Marine looked up at him, his eyes a blank wall. What was going on behind those eyes, Todd didn’t know.
The night before, Todd had remarked that LCpl Kaas was one helluva Marine. Suddenly, as Kaas stared at him, he was very, very glad that the lance corporal was on their side.
EPILOGUE
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Keenan watched quietly as COL Tarnition read the report. He’s already been briefed as to the content, but he had wanted to read the details. He’d been reading for 30 minutes, not saying a word. Keenan could hardly believe it himself. The proof though, was there in front of him, all typed and printed up in triplicate. It had almost gone unnoticed, something Keenan almost wished had happened. Now, there was no escaping the implications.
Keenan had come back to the US, reported back to the Pentagon, and then gone on his post-deployment leave. While writing up his after-action report, he toyed with the thumb drive onto which he’d had MT copy that last report. He wanted to just forget it. Chasing down rumors wasn’t his job anymore. But it had come in while he was still in Iraq, and the Army part of him demanded that he close all loops.
It hadn’t been hard to locate LT Gutierrez, the doctor who’d first treated then-PFC Kaas. The doc was now stationed at Little Creek, and when Keenan had called, had easily remembered the Marine. Yes, he’d been injured. Yes, he’d had a fever. He’d even sent a sample of Kaas’ blood to the USAMRIID when plans to send the Marine himself were scrapped, but he hadn’t followed through with the results.
The fever and the injury were enough to screen out Kaas, but Keenan wanted to cross every t and dot every i. He called USAMRIID, and they had done an initial screening, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, they kept the samples, and of course they could forward them to him.
The blood samples had arrived in a bio-pack, and Keenan had examined them himself under a microscope. What he saw floored him. Using the testing protocols given to him by the colonel, he saw definite signs of blood regeneration, even if not to the degree that had been supposed.
He’d reported to the colonel, who rushed over to do his own test. It showed the same.
“Where is this Marine,” he had shouted, excited.
“He’s still in Iraq, in Ramadi. But the results, they’re not like we expected.”
“Get another sample, Major. I want another test.”
Keenan had gone back to Iraq himself, and under the guise of another health-related test, pulled the blood of every soldier, sailor, airman, Marine, and Coastguardsman who had ever been immersed in Iraqi canal water. That was a lot of blood samples, and all of them were simply incinerated except for the only one that counted. Keenan had flown back to the US with his prize in hand.
The next test was far more conclusive. It was actually possible to see blood cells, damaged by a blast of gamma radiation, mend themselves. This was the test they had devised, even if it in and of itself did not prove the existence of real werewolves, only of remarkable healing properties. Keenan had kept that observation to himself, though.
COL Tarnition put down the report and stared at the ceiling for a good two minutes before suddenly pulling himself forward and looking at Keenan and Dr. Seagal, his civilian second-in-command.
“I think this is it. I think he’s one. And I’d bet my retirement that the guy he killed outside the orphanage, he was one, too. You’re sure his grave was empty?” he addressed Keenan.
“Yes, sir. He wasn’t claimed, and as with all unclaimed bodies in Iraq, he was buried within 24 hours. I had the grave opened, but the body was gone.”
“Too bad. We could have used the body. But I think we have a live one, now.
“First thing, we get him back from Iraq.”
“Uh, sir, he’s got four more months there.”
“I don’t care. Just get him back. Think of something, Major. He’s got a mother, right?”
“Sir? His mother?”
“Shit, Keenan! We’re not the fucking CIA. Don’t hurt her. Just find a reason for Kaas here to come back, maybe to help her or something. Use your imagination!”
Keenan felt relieved, but deep inside, he wondered just how far the colonel wanted him to go. Not that far, right? Right?
“Second, squash that Navy Cross.”
“Carl, is that necessary?” Dr. Seagal asked.
Keenan had been surprised by that order, too, but felt guilty that it was the civilian who had questioned it, not him.
“Come on, Bret. Do you think we can use him if he’s some sort of hero? It’s already going to be bad enough, but a Navy Cross? They name ships after people with the Navy Cross.”
“Sir, as I wrote in my report, SecNav has already indicated he’s going to approve it,” Keenan reminded him.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to kick it upstairs and let them deal with the Honorable SecNav. But no Navy Cross,” COL Tarnition said with conviction.
“So, it gets circular filed?” Keenan asked, ashamed of what he had to do.
“No. Some reporter will get wind of it, and we’ll have the press clamoring to give him the Medal of Honor or some shit. No, let’s get it down to a Bronze Star with the Combat V the Marines put on it. That should do.”
“And when we get him back here, then what?” Keenan asked.
“He’s got, what, three more years on his enlistment? Almost three years? Well, he’s got that recon MOS, right?”
“Yes, sir. He’s got the 0321.”
“But not the dive quals, right?” the colonel asked, and when Keenan nodded, went on. “Let’s get him to one of the Navy dive schools.”
“They have their own combat diving school now,” Keenan said.
“Shit, Major, do I have to give you all the details? Send him to the Boy Scouts for dive school if that’s what it takes. Just get it done. And when he’s finished, I think MARSOC is a good place for him. He’ll be trained up, and in that unit, it’ll be quite easy for us to reach out and touch him.”
More to himself than to the other two men in the office, he went on, “LCpl Aiden Kaas, you are going to be an amazing asset to your country, and I’m just the man to make it happen.”
BOOK 2
PATRIA LYCANUS
Chapter 1
Corporal Aiden Kass scanned the area ahead, trying to pick out his best bolt path. To his right, the mountain rose almost straight up. To his left, the mountain fell away to a small river that had cut this nameless valley in the Hindu Kush. This was a prime kill zone should the Taliban decide to hit them.
Picking out areas in which to bolt if they got hit was an ongoing, automatic action, just as are breathing, putting one foot in front of the other and scanning for signs of the enemy. Walk, scan for Terry[55], and choose a route to get out of the kill zone and under cover.
Aiden hitched up the 140-pound pack, trying to get the straps in a more comfortable position. With his hidden strength, he thought humping the pack should be easier, but it still was a bitch climbing up and down the mountains at altitude, his ILBE[56] straps digging into his shoulders.
Aiden was assigned as an “operator” for Marine Special Operations Team (MARSOT) 8229, call sign “Badger 29.” He and Doc Redmond had been last minute additions to the team after two other team members had been injured in a freak accident at Hawthorne during final workups, but at least they were from the recon family. They had been yanked from battalion together and had not gone through the normal A & S, the Assessment and Selection, screening process due to the short timeline, but as both had Silver Stars, they were nominally accepted by the rest. Manny, their JTAC[57], had been a communicator before going to school and had come from there straight to the team without any prior recon experience. No one had actually snubbed him, but it was clear that he had to prove himself to the rest before he would be accepted.
The air was pleasantly cool at 5,000 feet, but Aiden was sweating as he labored up the rocky path. Since his transformation, he didn’t tolerate heat as well as he used to. Born and raised in Las Vegas, he would have thought he would be used to the heat by now. At least the team was not out in the deserts at Helmand with most of the Marines in-country. They had met with the CG[58] and his staff there before coming out to FOB[59] Ballenstein along the border with Pakistan, and while Camp Leatherneck itself was a veritable oasis, a little slice of the US, the area around the ba
se looked bleak and exposed and was brutally hot.
The Hindu Kush in which FOB Ballenstein was located, however, was beautiful, Aiden had to admit. The rugged mountains were not the empty peaks of the south. These were covered with a sparse evergreen forest that looked like the trees around Tahoe. Take away the fact that this was a major smuggling and Taliban route in and out of Pakistan, and Aiden thought it could be a nice tourist destination—that is if you ignored the utter poverty that settled over each small village like a blanket of despair. Aiden had only been to the US, Mexico a few times, Iraq, and Kuwait, so he didn’t have much to compare Afghanistan with, but he couldn’t imagine many places worse off. The people looked old and tired, even the young men and women. Most of the villages had no electricity or running water.
What might have struck him most, though, was the smell. Whether at Camp Leatherneck in Helmand or up here in the mountains, there was a pervading scent of ancient dust, death, and rot, or at least that was how it seemed to Aiden. And it wasn’t just him with his heightened sense of smell. The others on the team all had mentioned it as well.
The trail they were climbing rose to about 6,000 feet before going back down the other side and into a small valley where the people of Marwat somehow scratched out a living. The 100 or so people of the village probably lived just as their ancestors had, ancestors who had fought off invaders from Alexander to the Soviets—and now the Coalition forces.
As tail-end Charlie, Aiden had to keep swiveling his torso, the heavy pack resisting the change in momentum, to check their rear. If they were to get hit, though, he doubted that anyone would rush them from behind and below them. The muj[60] liked to have a terrain feature between them and the Coalition forces when they hit so they could fade away when it got too hot.
He turned forward again and tried to see if the point man had reached the crest yet. Then it would be downhill for a klick, another klick through the ville, and four more to their objective. Six more kilometers of march. Six more kilometers of being nothing more than a pack mule.
The Werewolf of Marines Trilogy Page 23