The ANA hajjis broke and ran, dropping their weapons in their panic to get away. Two were not quick enough. Dark shapes burst out of the shack and tackled two of the slower Afghan soldiers. Jordan brought his Ma Deuce on one of them, but the thing had stood up with the hapless soldier in its grasp, the soldier between Jordan and whatever was attacking him.
“Lin, where’s Jacobs?” he asked, referring to the squad’s advanced marksman. “I don’t have a shot!”
Jordan didn’t like any Afghans, and he didn’t trust the ANA, but he was not about to blow one of them apart.
It didn’t make any difference. The creature bit around the hajji’s neck, and the head came off. Jordan leveled a burst of fire. The Ma Deuce’s big 655-grain rounds could bring down an elephant, and Jordan instinctively knew, just as Homo erectus knew when the cave bears were stalking them, that he had to fight or die.
But with an unbelievable quickness, the thing was gone, and Jordan’s rounds punched out into the trees. Every hair on Jordan’s body stood on end as he searched for targets.
Not every ANA was running away. Unbelievably, one of them was running forward, passing Jordan’s Humvee as he ran to meet the nightmares. It was the ANA lieutenant, a grizzled veteran of the war with the Soviets. He had out a shining foot-and-a-half knife, the one Jordan had seen in a sheath strapped to his thigh.
Beneath him, both Lin and SSGT Galloway were firing their M16s. They were impacting on a shape in the fading light, and while Jordan couldn’t make out its features well, it looked like some big fucking dog, but one standing on its hind legs. It rose from a dead ANA, and Jordan swore he could see red eyes glaring at the three Americans. It burst into a charge as Jordan swung his Ma Deuce around.
It was quick, fucking quick, and it was two steps away from the Humvee when Jordan pulled the trigger. Within seconds, 15 rounds blasted the thing apart, showering the three with blood and gore.
“Fire, fire!” the heavily accented ANA lieutenant was shouting back.
As Jordan swung around to acquire the target, he was stunned to see the lieutenant standing up to another monster, jabbing at it with his silvery knife. Jordan expected the thing to destroy the foolhardy lieutenant, but it actually seemed wary as it feinted several times at the Afghan.
“Fire!” the lieutenant screamed again.
Whatever it was, it was taller than the lieutenant—taller, but not by much, and Jordan knew he could easily hit the ANA officer if he fired at the thing.
It’s your funeral, he thought as he pulled the trigger.
The Ma Deuce reached out, almost taking the top of the lieutenant’s head off as Jordan nailed his attacker right in the forehead. The top half of the thing’s head disappeared in an explosion of red.
Jordan felt a jolt of pride. That was a difficult shot with a Ma Deuce, but he smoked the creature while a friendly was right in front of it. To his surprise, the lieutenant wasn’t done but fell on the twitching body. With several hacks at the neck, he cut off what remained of the head.
Talk about crazy fucks! he thought.
“Jordan, at your eleven!” Galloway shouted.
Jordan tore his eyes away from the lieutenant as the man brandished his bloody trophy. In the trees on the other side of the road, about 40 meters away, several sets of red eyes stared out of the deepening darkness. ROE be fucked—Jordan didn’t hesitate. He opened up, sending round after round into the trees. When he stopped, his barrel smoking hot, the eyes were gone.
“Holy shit,” Lin said from the side of the Humvee, where he had his M16 out. “What the fuck was all of this?”
They ignored the radio asking for an update as they stared blankly at the scene before them. Jordan silently watched the ANA lieutenant as he went to the second body and hacked the head off the mangled torso.
“A little overkill?” Lin asked from beneath him.
By that time, the rest of the squad had arrived. SSGT Galloway ordered Brent Miller, Sergeant Brent Miller, the first team leader, to check the bodies of the two dead, well, attackers.
The three soldiers waited as the team went forward to where the ANA lieutenant was standing by the first body. The lieutenant stepped aside as Miller came up.
“He’s fucking smoked, in pieces. You shot his clothes right off!” Miller shouted back.
He? No clothes? Jordan had expected an “it” at the least. Whatever that was, it was not human, that was for sure.
“It’s human?” Galloway shouted out, obviously of the same mind as Jordan.
“Not anymore,” Miller shouted back.
“This one’s naked, too!” Bunky shouted out from where he stood over Jordan’s head shot. “His head’s gone, but the rest of him is fine, just stark naked.”
“What the fuck?” SSGT Galloway said, confused. “Lestair, what did you see?”
Jordan knew what he saw. Evidently, his squad leader saw the same thing. But Miller and Bunky, they were seeing dead, if naked, hajjis, nothing more. Was this one of those mass hallucination things? Was he going crazy?
He chose to be noncommittal. “Uh, I don’t know, Staff. I just fired. I couldn’t see anything clearly.”
“You didn’t see those things?” Lin asked accusingly.
“Sorry, I just fired.”
“Hey, Cubbie!” Galloway shouted out for their terp.
Jordan never remembered Cubbie’s real name. He was “Cubbie” to everyone due to his love of the Chicago Cubs, despite never having seen them play, even on television.
“Ask that lieutenant what the fuck just happened,” Galloway told their interpreter.
Cubbie went forward to where the lieutenant was checking on his dead soldiers. Jordan could see five of them littering the ground like broken dolls. There had been four ANP in the guardshack, and while Jordan could only see one of their heads from where it had been thrown, he was pretty sure all of them had been killed. That was nine dead on their side, two, maybe more among the attackers. “Attackers” seemed too generic, but deep inside, Jordan knew they weren’t mujahideen.
Jordan watched as Cubbie approached the lieutenant. ANA or not, that was one hard-ass motherfucker. Jordan had been about shitting in his trou, and he was in back of a Ma Deuce. He knew he’d been only seconds from joining the dead ANA soldiers before he was able to blow that fucking thing away. Yet that lieutenant had run into the battle armed with a friggin’ knife, for Pete’s sake. A knife!
Cubbie talked to the lieutenant for a few moments, then came back to Galloway. “Lieutenant Wafa Khan thanks you for your help. Now he must take care of his dead,” he told them.
“But who the fuck were they?” Galloway insisted.
“He says that is not for us to worry about. He will take care of it.”
“Cubbie! I want some answers!” Galloway insisted.
“I am sorry, Staff Sergeant. But the lieutenant, he is, what you might call, a ‘hunter.’ Most of us here in the mountains, we don’t believe in the old tales. But we still don’t question those who call themselves that.”
“What the hell is a hunter?” Lin asked.
“I . . . I have said too much. Please, forget it. It is an old tradition, like you say, an old wives tale. I am a modern man, so forgive me if I fell back into superstition,” he said before hurrying off before he could be questioned further.
Somewhere in their DNA was the gene that feared the darkness, that knew there were monsters beyond the reach of the light of the campfire. That gene reared its ugly head as Jordan listened. The three soldiers watched as the remains of what looked to be normal men were carried past them before they agreed to say nothing about their mutual hallucination. But Jordan knew that was a lie, and when the squad reported that there was blood just inside the treeline, but no body, Jordan shuddered. Nothing stood up to a .50 cal and ran off.
Whatever had attacked them, Jordan really didn’t want to know. He’d let that crazy “hunter” deal with it and hope the attackers would stay out of his dreams at night.
; Chapter 26
Lomri Baridman Gorbat Wafa Khan, who the Americans referred to as “Lieutenant Wafa Khan,” oversaw the loading of his men’s bodies onto the beat-up truck that would take them down the mountain.
He cared for his men, and he mourned their passing, yet he was filled with exultation. He was not just an Army officer. He came from a long line of shkaarzan, of hunters. Some knew them as lewan-shkaarzan, but it wasn’t the animal lewan—wolves—they hunted, but darker creatures. As his people were dragged into the 21st Century, many of the old traditions died as the young wanted cell phones, motorcycles, and televisions. But here in the mountains, far from the cities, some still held to the old ways. Some believed in the Shaytan spawn that tried to destroy men and hasten the end of days.
Gorbat’s father had been a shkaarzan, and his father before him, and yet his father before him, and so on reaching far back into their past. Gorbat had clung to his training, his beliefs, despite never encountering a ghuul, as the creatures were known in the old Arabic texts, or wargalewa in his own native Pashto. He knew they were out there, biding their time to bring about the end of times. He’d served in the Army, first under the warlords fighting the Soviet invaders, now with the new invaders. It didn’t really make much difference to him who he fought. He tried to keep his men alive while watching for the wargalewa. He was born to protect his people, the Pashtun, and that was what drove him.
Then today, in this small mountain village, the spawn had come forth. When they hit the police station, he immediately recognized what they were. He’d never heard one before, he’d never seen one, but that didn’t matter. Without hesitation, he charged, his silver pesh-kabz[97] drawn and ready for battle. Confronting Shaytan’s minion filled him with elation. He didn’t believe in the promise to martyrs of 72 virgins in heaven, but he imagined that this was how those men felt as they pulled the pin on their suicide vests. He was filled with a holy presence as he fought for Allah.
The creature he faced was taller than him, and from what he’d witnessed, ungodly strong, but it recognized the presence of a warrior of Allah. It hesitated, wary of his holy pesh-kabz. Despite his fervor, though, Gorbat was a practical man, and the Americans had weapons, too. The soldier on the .50 caliber gun had sent one of the minions back to hell already, so in his somewhat broken English, Gorbat ordered him to open fire on the devil facing him. The soldier didn’t hesitate, and Gorbat felt the big rounds blast over his head, a shock wave caused by the rounds’ passing. One hit the wargalewa high on the forehead, taking it off the top of its vile head in an explosion of blood, brains, and bone.
Gorbat knew that the creatures were tough and hard to kill. He wasn’t sure if losing half of its head was enough, however. He was taught early on in his training that the only sure way to keep one of them dead was to remove its head completely, so that is what he did. The pesh-kabz was not designed for sawing, nor was silver the best metal for a blade, but that is what a shkaarzan was required to use.
When the fight was over, at least two of the wargalewa were dead. There had been more, waiting out in the trees, but they had been driven off by the American on the Humvee. With his senses attuned, he knew that at least one more had been hit but not killed. The rest got away, and Gorbat’s blood pumped hotly as he realized he had a renewed mission. He would not rest until he returned every meanong[98] wargalewa in these mountains to Shaytan in hell.
Chapter 27
Hozan was with Aiden when the Army platoon returned to the FOB. This was nothing of note, but the truck with the dead bodies was an indication that they’d seen action. Hozan had seen many bodies during his years, and he didn’t pay these too much attention until a faint whiff tickled his senses.
He held up his hand, silencing whatever Aiden was about to say while he focused on the eight, no, nine bodies being lowered from the vehicle. They had been wrapped in ponchos, but it was obvious that they had suffered severe trauma. That was not what caught Hozan’s attention, though. It was the very faint presence of varg that enveloped them. He doubted that too many others could discern the spoor, especially from 70 meters away, but Hozan had always had better senses concerning the Tribe than others.
These men had been killed by vargs, no question about it. This could be bad, very bad, and Hozan wondered if this could be related to the killing of the varg attack force. If so, this could have serious ramifications. He looked at his young friend and hoped that no one from the Tribe knew of his part in the bombing that had saved Zakia’s tribe, but killed others of their kind.
One of the ANA officers came back to supervise the unloading of the bodies. Immediately, every hair on Hozan’s body rose, and he had to fight back the urge to shift. Without a doubt, this man was the enemy. Aiden’s yet poorly developed senses couldn’t pick it up, but Hozan knew what this man was.
Over the years, Hozan’s kind had had the advantage over the humans. They could kill humans at will without repercussion. However, the pernicious humans would not give up and simply be helpless prey. Certain groups of people banded together to fight off the threat. Different cultures developed these men, these hunters of the Tribe, in different ways. But they evolved in a similar fashion. Some went down dead ends, using superstitious talismans and protections in their fight. They ended up dead. But by trial and error, those that survived taught others what they did to survive, and the body of knowledge grew. Distance kept them from full integration with each other, and some groups were more effective than others, but the survivors, the hunters, could sometimes defeat those of the Tribe.
The same sense that enabled Hozan to detect the slightest sign of a shift or presence of one of the Tribe seemed also to be attuned to hunters. Hozan had never seen one in Iraq or the old Soviet Union, he’d never seen one on his pilgrimage to Germany, but here in the Hindu Kush, one was standing there, not 70 meters away.
As Hozan stared, the man suddenly stopped and turned, as if trying to find something. His gaze did not pause as it swept past the two of them, but Hozan was suddenly sure he knew there were two of the Tribe in the area.
“Come,” he said to Aiden, taking his friend by the arm and leading him back between the buildings and out of sight.
This was a new development, one he should report back to Nemir. The hunter could be a threat to Hozan, certainly, but more to Aiden. As much as his young friend’s development as a varg surprised him, he was still a novice with much to learn. A skilled hunter might be more than a match for him.
Chapter 28
Aiden kept scanning the terrain, looking for any sign of danger. He pushed his senses as far as he could, his imagination going rampant. Not only did he have to worry about the Taliban, not only was there a werewolf war going on, but now Hozan told him there was some sort of hunter on the loose, a human whose mission it was to take down werewolves.
Aiden wanted to dismiss the last one, but Hozan had assured him the danger was real. A varg was much more powerful than a human, yet Aiden had used human weapons to take out the attack on the village. He was only now beginning to realize that being a werewolf was not a free pass when it came to a fight. Still, he wasn’t sure what a single Afghan could do even against a newbie varg such as himself.
To make matters worse, MAJ Ward was along with the mission, sitting in Aiden’s GMV. This was only the team’s second mission mounted in the GMVs, and Aiden was the trunk monkey for the middle vehicle. When the orders came down to escort the major on a mission of “observation,” Norm had immediately put him with Aiden. It seemed that the major was to be his charge. Major Ward had taken a brief moment when they were almost alone to whisper to Aiden that the mission was from on high, and he was supposed to covertly observe Aiden in action. So Aiden had Taliban, other members of the Tribe, some Afghan werewolf hunter, and now his own country’s higher command on his ass.
At least the major had been open about it. Aiden realized that the major could just be playing a game to gain his trust, but Aiden sensed the major was solid. He was on Aiden�
�s side, so to speak.
Aiden was concerned about taking the man out beyond the wire, however. The guy only had one leg, for Pete’s sake. Granted, it was barely noticeable, but that was back at the FOB. Out here, in the mountains, was no place for a one-legged man. No matter what high-tech leg the Army had given him, he could not be as able as he should be. Even most whole-bodied Marines couldn’t keep up with the team, much less one with a physical disability.
He risked a glance down the gun turret at the major. They were about three hours from the FOB, a bouncing, jarring three-hour ride. But the major had wedged himself into the small seat and was seemingly coping.
The team was heading for a high point where the entire valley could be observed. This mission was bullshit, and everyone knew it. If there really was a reason for the major to get a feel of the valley, a simple helo lift would have sufficed with much less effort. Only Aiden knew the real reason for the mission.
He hadn’t yet showed the major his enhanced abilities—as a human. He hadn’t the opportunity, to be sure, but he wasn’t pushing it, either. And the major seemed OK with that. But matters had been taken out of his hands, if he was telling the truth. No matter, even without the major’s warning, what with all the other crazy things happening around him, Aiden was not about to shift anytime soon.
After another 20 minutes, the three vehicles pulled to a stop in the treeline. Off to the left, about 30 meters away, the mountainside opened up, providing the views over the valley.
Norm dismounted and came up to Aiden’s GMV. “OK, you and Rob, escort the major to the vantage point while we set up security.
“Major, if you’ll follow Corporal Kaas and Sergeant Christianson, they’ll take you to where you can do what you have to. If possible, though, I’d like to leave here for the second point within 30 minutes, sir.”
“No problem, Lieutenant. This shouldn’t take long,” MAJ Ward said as he clambered out of the GMV.
The Werewolf of Marines Trilogy Page 34