Chapter 37
“You’re not going,” Claire said with finality. “Me and you, we’re going to disappear. They’ll never find us.”
“You might stay gone, Claire, but they eventually track down all ferals,” Hozan said.
“They didn’t track down my father. For all we know, he’s still out there somewhere,” Aiden countered.
“That’s because they didn’t know to look. They know about you, and they are demanding your presence before the Council.”
“Where this Wais guy will kill Aiden, right?” Claire asked.
“As a blood, they need to give him a, well, sort of a trial. But yes, Günter Wais seeks to eliminate Aiden,” Hozan agreed.
“Murder him, is what you mean,” Claire said.
“Words, Claire. The end result is the same.”
“There’s always my plan,” Keenan offered. “Let me come clean with Dr. Lowestein. With the entire US government in back of it, we can arrange something that no werewolf can penetrate.”
“And I might as well be in prison,” Aiden said. “I’ll go stir-crazy.”
“But you’ll be alive.”
“And if I can’t go on missions, do you think the government will still keep me protected and out of sight?”
“I think so. I hope so,” Keenan said.
“Sorry, that one’s a no go,” Aiden said before turning back to Hozan. “What I don’t get is how all of this happened. All of the supporters of the Prime Alpha get killed, then Wais challenges him and wins? Is that how it works? Now he’s the top dog, and no one says anything?”
“Five of the old Prime Alpha’s supporters, to include Nemir Muhmood, were killed before the challenge. And no, this is not normal. You forget that while we are a pack, a tribe, we tend not to work together well. We rely on our own prowess to get things done. But it wasn’t unprecedented. There have been cases such as this in the past. We do share some characteristics, after all, from wolves in the wild, and they can act as a pack for the betterment of the whole.”
“And no one is going to say anything?”
“Günter Wais is now the Prime Alpha, and many will not think to challenge that now, no matter how he got into that position. This is more than just a title. It is a new fact of being. He is the Prime Alpha, and that means all of us feel a sense of duty to him.”
“But Wais didn’t feel a sense of duty to the old Prime Alpha,” Aiden said.
“Not all do, of course, to the same degree. If we did, there would never be a challenge. But there has to be changing of the guard or the pack will grow stagnant. So when one can overcome the subservience and also defeat the old Prime Alpha, the Tribe gets a new, more capable leader.”
“And now that he’s the leader, he’s calling me in for a sham trial where he’ll have me executed for turning Colonel Tarnition without permission.”
“I’m afraid that is true, Aiden.”
“And when it this so-called trial?”
“In three days. At 6:00 PM at Rheinstein—Rheinstein Castle, our cultural and ceremonial center in Germany,” he added when he noticed their confused looks. “They expect you, but not all obey a Council summons. Rogues never do, and others become feral and flee. But the ferals always eventually get caught.”
“Well, that sucks,” Aiden said. “So the question is what do I do now?”
“What do we do,” Claire reminded him.
“You can obey the summons and hope for a miracle, you can run and enjoy what life you can, or as Keenan offers, you can go into hiding,” Hozan said.
“I’m not liking those choices.
“Can you challenge Wais?” Aiden asked after a few moments.
“Me? Well, technically, yes, I could. Any blood can challenge. But I’m old now, and probably no match for him.”
“You’re not old,” Claire said.
“Yes, I am. I am 85 years old now, and while we age slower than humans, and while I still am capable of many things, I am not as I was when I was 40 or 50. Even we slow down with age.”
“But if you challenged, what then?”
“Well, challenges are traditionally issued at Rheinstein. So I would have to do it when Günter Wais was there. Then, I would have to get past his followers. Anyone else could challenge me in turn before I even reached the Prime Alpha. Unless I was given free reign so I could fight only him, I might have to fight five or ten lieutenants before I got my chance at him.
“But, if that is the only way, I am willing to issue the challenge. Who knows? A Peshmerga is hard to defeat, and maybe these old bones have a few tricks left.”
Aiden looked up at Hozan, his friend, his mentor, knowing that he’d just offered his life to him. Aiden couldn’t let that happen, and the idea with which he’d been toying suddenly crystalized in his mind. He knew what he was going to do.
“I appreciate that Hozan, more than you can imagine. But no, that would not only be suicide, but a waste. But I have another idea.”
“And what is that?” Hozan asked.
Aiden waited a moment. He could still run. He could still hide. He felt that if he spoke the words that were in him, though, he’d have no choice. Things would be in motion, and he’d have to see it through.
“I’m going to answer the summons,” he said.
“No!” came out of three throats simultaneously.
“I’m not going to sacrifice myself, but I have to confront the situation. Keenan, can you get me a ride to Bagram? And have that plane wait for me?”
“What? A plane? Yeah, I can get that, I’m sure. But for what? Bagram’s a long way from Germany, so I don’t see what that will do. And I’m not going to get the US Army to launch an assault on this castle.”
“Just get me the plane. A big one, like a C17. Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.”
And now I’ve just got to come up with that plan.
Chapter 38
Aiden ran up the slopes of the Hindu Kush, grateful for the cooling air. He had shifted as there was no way he could run the 160 miles from Bagram Air Base to FOB Ballentstein as a human. His body just would not be able to handle the strain.
He hadn’t planned on running at all. Keenan had a CH46 Chinook waiting for him at Bagram, but the mountains were socked in, and the forecast was for another three days of bad weather. Aiden didn’t have three days. Things were in motion, and by then, Aiden already had to be out of Afghanistan and already in Germany. Out of Bagram, he managed to hitch a ride with an ANP[119] convoy to Jalalabad, and across the relatively flat terrain, they’d make good time. But once in the mountains, he’d be able to make better time on foot as a varg, so from that city, he’d been on his own.
He hadn’t really been planning on running the entire route, so he’d been less than completely prepared. He had some food, but he knew he was burning calories like crazy, and he also knew it wasn’t enough. Hopefully, he’d be able to get replenished at the FOB.
It is what it is, he thought, putting down his head and forging on.
He had to make it up and back, and he’d do what he had to in order to make it happen.
A varg could cover a good dozen or more miles an hour over open terrain. He had about 120 miles to the FOB from Jalalabad, so that meant about nine hours. But the intervening distance was not open terrain but rugged mountains. Aiden thought he was climbing up and down more than he was moving closer to his target. He kept falling further and further behind his mental schedule. He tried to pick up the pace, but it was difficult, even as a varg. Back in the US, he’d been able to run circles around his fellow Marines. It wasn’t that he was really faster, he thought, but that the same ability to heal a werewolf essentially “healed” the effects of prolonged exercise. His body was able to wash away the buildup of lactic acid and replenish the energy in his cells.
Still, there were limits. Aiden was a biological furnace, burning through calories upon calories as he struggled to keep his body moving. He realized that to a passing attack helo with a FLIR, he’d light u
p the screen like a Roman candle.
Hozan might have been a better choice to send. He could shift to his lycan, and they could cover more ground faster and with less energy than a varg. Real wolves can sprint up to speeds of 35 or 40 miles per hour and lope for hours at much slower speeds at around five miles per hour. Werewolves in their lycan forms can not only match the top speed of wolves, but they can maintain a much faster loping speed of 20 miles per hour almost indefinitely, according to what Hozan had told him.
The problem with a varg was that it was evolved for power, not for running, and so were much less efficient.
As Aiden began to tire, he began to focus on every movement of his feet, every breath of his heaving lungs. He’d make it if he had to force his body to obey.
He stopped at each mountain stream he crossed, replenishing needed liquid and to cool down a moment. He didn’t know how dehydration affected a varg, and he didn’t want to find out now.
By the time darkness had fallen, he knew he’d covered less than 40 tough miles. He had a long ways to go, and the clock was ticking. He considered turning back. He could sit at Bagram, hoping the weather cleared. If it didn’t, he would just have to proceed with this piece of the puzzle a bust.
And be doomed to failure, he knew.
His limbs were beginning to ache, something he hadn’t experienced since being turned—sorry, since his own inherent abilities had been triggered. He started taking in huge gulps of air as he struggled up yet another slope. Over this range, down the next valley and over the next range, and he’d hit the road into Ballenstein. This “shortcut” will have saved him over 60 miles of travel and kept him out of three good-sized mountain villages, but it was taking its toll on him.
As he neared the top, he momentarily broke through the cloud cover. A glorious full moon shone brightly, illuminating the tops of the clouds that blanketed the valleys. He had a clear view of the last range to cross, the peaks of which were another 25 miles away. If he had the comms, he could call for a pick-up to lift him over the intervening valley and deposit him on the other side, saving him three or four grueling hours. That was assuming there was a bird available and he could get it.
Aiden stopped for a moment to catch his breath and orient himself. He could see where his next point was, and he was still on target. Looking up at the moon, he felt the stirring in his soul that affected his kind. He still wasn’t sure why the moon affected them. The Hollywood movies where werewolves only shifted under the full moon were so much claptrap, he’d learned. But there was something to the connection. He could almost feel a small burst of energy as if his cells were buzzing.
Grateful for any additional boost, Aiden stepped off again, dipping back into the cloud cover and making his way down the mountain. Just as with the area around Ballenstein, where Aiden had been stationed for the better part of a year, the trees in the Hindu Kush were not the dense forests of Camp Lejeune, and Aiden could run between them without hindrance. Without hindrance did not mean the run itself was easy, however. He was tired, his body depleted, and he was frankly struggling.
When he finally got to the bottom, he stumbled and fell into the stream there. He lay still for a moment, letting the ice-cold water revive him. He struggled back to his feet, lurching his body forward into motion.
From on top of the last ridge, the clouds had covered what looked to be a wide valley. If only it were so. Between the two ranges, the valley was a series of lower hills and streams,
Keep running, keep running, he told himself.
C130 rolling down the strip,
Airborne daddy going to take a little trip.
Stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door.
Jump right out and count to four.
His mind lost itself in diddies sung while on formation runs in the Marines. The beat kept him going, kept his feet moving.
And if I die on the old drop zone,
Pack me up and ship me home.
Tell my mom I did my best,
And bury me in the leaning rest.
One by one, he sang every diddy he knew, then started the cycle over. Anything to keep moving.
Come on, Aiden, push it, he told himself.
“You maggot! You call that running?” a voice called out in the dark.
Aiden looked up to see Staff Sergeant Wiley Jenkins, one of his DI’s back at MCRD,[120] one who’d had a mean-streak that seemed to be continually targeted on Recruit Kaas’ back.
Aiden knew his imagination was running wild, but he went with it. Wiley wasn’t there in the Hindu Kush with him, but if the ghost of Wiley could help, then Aiden welcomed it.
“Get your ass in gear, Recruit!”
“Yes, Drill Instructor Jenkins!”
With his DI on him, Aiden managed to speed up and hold that speed for another hour before he started to flag. Jenkins spirit seemed to lose interest in him as it faded, left behind as Aiden pushed on.
Aiden’s brain was fried, and he wondered what else it would invent to keep him moving. He waited for Claire to show up, to remind him that this was life and death, but she never appeared. Aiden’s muddled mind felt betrayed at that. He wondered if she really loved him.
Sergeant Rickman, his squad leader in Iraq and a man who Aiden had feared, made an appearance, browbeating him to keep going, and he stayed until Aiden started to climb the far range. Evidently, Rickman got tired, or Aiden’s mind didn’t have enough left to spare to keep him alive.
Up and over the range, and then it was a road for the last 60 miles. It was still a long ways, but the going would be much easier. Aiden tried to push up the slopes, but it was hard going. He prayed for his mind to pull another trick, and to his muted surprise, it complied. As in dreams when he was young, he could go faster with his hands on the ground on all fours. It worked when he was ten, and it seemed to work again. It was easier to run, and he thought he was faster.
On one level, he realized it was all a hallucination, and that he could be simply crawling slowly back in the real world, but he decided just to go with it. If it blocked out the exhaustion, that was good enough for him.
Aiden almost flew up the slopes, dodging trees and bounding over rocks. His eyesight was keen, but his sense of smell was amazing. Everything stood out in detail. Aiden had always dreamt in color, but not in surround-smell!
Part of him realized he was still tired, that the run was wearing him down, but still, this was much better than the torture he’d been going through, and he intended to take advantage of it until it faded as had Jenkins and Rickman. If his mind was going to help him cope physically, who was he to fight it?
Before he expected it, he burst out of the clouds, a good 200 feet below the pass. The moon was higher in the sky, a huge, bright ball that seemed to welcome him. Aiden couldn’t help it; he burst into the longest howl of his life, a beautiful, musical howl that reached across the clouds and into the sky.
What? That’s not how I sound when I howl.
He stopped, and gave out a quieter, tentative howl. It was still high, still beautiful. Something was off, he realized, and not just his voice. Things didn’t look right, and he was still on all fours. He felt fine, but totally different.
He turned to look back the way he’d come, and in doing so, caught a glimpse of his back.
Awestruck, he stopped, then looked down at his paws. Instead of the big, ham-fisted paws of a varg, he now had two slender paws, the paws of a, of a . . .
Holy mother-fucking shit! I’m a wolf!
Chapter 39
Six hours later, just as dawn was breaking, Aiden loped into Leewekhel, the small mountain village where he’d met and mingled with the feral tribe of werewolves. They’d known he was coming, and were arrayed at the foot of the village in a defensive posture five lycans and twenty-three vargs. Aiden slowed down, trying to show no signs of aggression.
As Aiden crept in, Zakia’s presence almost overwhelmed him, making him want to grovel.
“Aiden?” a varg called out, steppi
ng forward.
Aiden looked up and immediately recognized Kashmala. He stood in place while she casually approached him, shifting in mid-stride to human. A naked, voluptuous Kashmala stopped, and hesitantly put her hand on Aiden’s head.
“I ever know you come back,” she said.
Aiden tried to respond, but nothing came out except for a whine.
Shit. Gotta shift back.
He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to go straight to human or stop at varg, and in doing so, made rather a mess of it. Instead of a smooth shift, he wavered in the form of several Hollywood horror creatures before he stood once again as a human.
He’d felt nothing as a lycan when Kashmala was standing there naked. As soon as he shifted back to human, he was hit by her Category 5 sexuality. He didn’t think he’d ever seen such a woman whose body simply screamed her sex as her, and he remembered how hard it had been to resist her obvious willingness when he’d been in the village a year ago. He took half a step back.
“You speak English?” was the only thing he could say.
Around him, the mood relaxed as varg and lycan alike shifted back to human. Within moments, children came out of the homes, some to start their play, others to come stare at the stranger who’d appeared in their midst.
“Little. Qalandar teach me,” she said.
Zakia came up and said something which sounded like Farsi. Aiden couldn’t swear to that, though; despite the werewolves’ reported ability to quickly learn languages, Aiden didn’t seem to have the knack.
“Zakia, she want understand why come,” Kashmala said.
In his hurried planning, he hadn’t considered the language barrier. When he and Hozan had made their trips to the village, Hozan had done most of the talking with both he and Zakai speaking Farsi as neither spoke the other’s native Pashto or Kurdish. Qalandar, one of the elders, could speak some English, but he’d never warmed up to Aiden, and so they hadn’t said much.
“I have a problem,” Aiden said, speaking slowly and enunciating carefully. “I have to report to the Council, and they’re going to execute me.”
The Werewolf of Marines Trilogy Page 56