RED HAZE: A Werewolf Story for the 21st Century

by Ian Redman

  The wolves set upon him.

  To the newly appointed Lord Mayor of Aachen City, the ravenous horror in front of his very eyes was too much to bear. In sheer terror, he fled down the hallway, towards the rear door, just as the wolves had planned.

  As the newly appointed Lord Mayor of Aachen ran past a window, in a hail of splintering glass the third beast attacked, its fur covered arm gripping the terrified man tightly, pulling him out into the night, screaming in pain as shards of glass sliced across his face and body.

  As if in unison, the other two wolves snarled and swiftly leapt out of the shattered window, joining their pack leader.

  The lead wolf, now on its hind legs, held the terrified man aloft, its snout close to his face. The beast’s nostrils flared, its blood red eyes piercing his, its hot stinking breath making him want to vomit! Slowly, as if in a canid grin, the beast’s snout and lips peeled back, its hot panting breath stinking of decay and death…and the teeth!

  The terrified Lord Mayor of Aachen whimpered and choked, the grip around his throat increasing in pressure, the razor sharp, blood drenched canine teeth now just inches from his terrified face. “Please…have mercy,” he choked as the wolf prepared for the kill.

  And the kill came swiftly, without mercy, or pity.

  The three wolves had been trained well for their mission, the assassination of the collaborator, the so-called Lord Mayor of Aachen. With an almighty, hideous, gut-wrenching roar, the prey’s shredded, broken body was thrown into the filthy rubble.

  The lead wolf dropped down to all fours, its tail vertical, dominant, its triangular ears twitching to the right. More sounds! Vehicles, reinforcements, THE ENEMY!

  The lead wolf growled, FOLLOW ME!

  They left swiftly; stealing into the cold night air. And behind them…lay carnage. Brutal, hellish carnage, the likes of which had never been witnessed before.

  Doctor Goebell’s propaganda machine would later claim victory, with the treacherous Lord Mayor of Aachen having been assassinated by a pack of Waffen SS werewolves.

  It was the Allies who would later cover up the truth, by stating the assailants were a group of fascist partisans, aptly named…The Werewolves.

  Dateline: 30 April 1945 - Hours…unknown

  Location: The Fuhrerbunker, Berlin, Germany

  “WULVEN!”

  It was the code word the last remaining remnants of staff had hoped and prayed for. With a wretched, rust driven creak, the heavy bolt drew back, the iron door pulling slowly open. The sounds of battle could be heard clearly outside. The Russians were near and so too, their brutal revenge.

  Lisa Borgen stood at the doorway. She looked thin, bedraggled and tired, her clothing filthy, her hair matted in dirt, grease and sweat. “Herr Sturmbannfuhrer Von Kurst,” Lisa’s voice was weak, pitiful, “I did not think you would arrive!”

  As a dirt-stained tear ran down young Lisa’s once pretty face, three Waffen SS veterans quickly made their way into the broken, smashed ruins of the underground bunker.

  “What is a young girl like you doing, stuck in a hell hole like this? YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT DAYS AGO!” Sturmbannfuhrer Karl Von Kurst could not contain his anger at the stupidity of the young girl. He knew she would have been given orders to leave the Fuhrerbunker days ago.

  “Please,” begged Lisa, “don’t shout at me, I had to stay with him, he is so sick!”

  Von Kurst sighed and slowly shook his head, his tired, bloodshot eyes wearing a look of desperation, sadness and pity. “I am sorry my dear, I did not mean to upset you. Fritz, get food, Jurgen and I will find the Fuhrer.” Von Kurst’s colleague nodded and took the lead down the steel reinforced corridor.

  Hauptsturmfuhrer Jurgen Falck, like his colleague, Scharfuhrer Fritz Kempler, had been in combat with Karl Von Kurst since the early days of ‘Operation Barbarossa’. How the three battle hardened veterans of the Waffen SS Totenkopf Division had survived the brutality of the last four years on the Russian Front was a miracle.

  But they had! That was why they had been chosen…for the experiment!

  All three were filthy, their clothing dirty and stained with blood, but they did not care. The three of them, as the pack, had moved swiftly through the hell of Berlin, killing as many Reds as they could on the perilous journey. But Karl Von Kurst’s heart was heavy. How he and his two friends had abhorred scavenging uniforms from dead countrymen, fellow warriors. But it had been their only realistic course of action, the only way to arrive at the steel door of the Bunker.

  The Fuhrer’s Bunker!

  Suddenly, a sense of foreboding flooded Von Kurst’s mind. He already knew he was too late, for the hairs on the back of his neck were rigid.

  “Are there others, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer?” Lisa was frightened, but still tried to hold on to a last glimmer of hope, a last glimmer…of sanity.

  “No! Only remnants of Nordland and Wiking are fighting now.” Von Kurst felt a deep sense of sadness for the girl. He knew she would be dead within twenty-four hours, hopefully quickly, but if the Russians had their way, she would definitely be gang raped, then killed. “Where is the Fuhrer?” he asked.

  “He is in the lower level, room twenty five, with Ms Von Braun.” The girl started to cry, “I think you are too late.”

  “SHIT!” The two Waffen SS troopers moved briskly with the girl. “Show us where he is, QUICKLY!” The steel corridors echoed to the sound of their heavy, mud soaked boots. Then…came the gunshot! Hurriedly, they ran towards the room where they had heard the sound. Room Twenty-Five! The door was locked. “STAND BACK!”

  Von Kurst pulled out a Walther P38 Pistol, fired three times into the lock then kicked the door in.

  “OH NO! MY FUHRER!” Lisa yelled, sobbing hysterically as she dropped to her knees. The wall behind the upturned chair was dripping crimson red, and to their left, the body of a woman lay crumpled over a brightly coloured sofa.

  Cyanide thought Falck, quickly turning to Von Kurst. “The Reich is finished, and so are we!”

  Karl Von Kurst was angry. He and his two loyal friends had risked everything to save their Fuhrer, to help keep the embers burning for the future of the Reich. Now, their once great leader, the man who had once conquered most of Europe, lay in a pool of blood, with only half a skull. “We are not finished yet Jurgen, far from it! Our new lives have only just begun!” The two men turned and moved back into the corridor, “we must move quickly. Find Fritz. Forget the food, we become the pack as soon as we are out of this shit hole!”

  “Yes, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer!” With a newly found, dogged sense of determination, the two men moved with haste, up the corridor.

  “Please…” begged Lisa, “please take me with you, please, PLEASE!”

  It was chaos everywhere, the Fuhrerbunker’s last remnants of staff knowing the end was near. The Fuhrer was dead. Now, like Lisa Borgen, they were panicking.

  “I am sorry!” replied Von Kurst.

  Lisa gripped the Waffen SS major’s gore soaked sleeve, her tear stained face close to his. “PLEASE HERR STURMBANNFUHRER,” she yelled, “PLEEEEEEEEEASE!”

  Von Kurst pushed her away and ran back up the corridor. “JURGEN, FRITZ, WE MOVE, NOW!!”

  The girl ran behind him, still hysterical. “YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME,” she screamed, “PLEASE, YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME!”

  Moving assertively, pushing people out of the way, Karl Von Kurst, Jurgen Falck and Fritz Kempler ran back to the steel door leading to the outside!

  Lisa followed, still screaming and sobbing.

  “Your plan, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer?” Fritz Kempler spoke quietly, calmly as the three close friends arrived once again at the Fuhrerbunker’s main entrance.

  “You and Jurgen know the plan Fritz,” replied Von Kurst, “we are wolves, so we must live like wolves. We move to forest, prepare for the change!” Perhaps Lisa Borgen was already on the verge of losing her sanity, but the sight she now witnessed robbed her of any that still remained. As his jaw line began slowly extending, Karl Von Ku
rst spoke, his voice deeply monotoned, increasingly becoming a loud growl. “PULL BACK THE BOLT…” The three were changing, their teeth and jaws slowly appearing, the massive body structures, ripping their clothing apart. Hastily, Von Kurst spoke before the pack leapt out, “…AND REMEMBER MY FRIENDS, WE ARE GODS!” With a vision from hell engulfing her mind, Lisa screamed dementedly as Karl Von Kurst, Jurgen Falck and Fritz Kempler raced to the hunt…and freedom.

  11

  BLOOD ORDER

  “Once again the city of Amsterdam has been embroiled in acts of violence, only this time by a single man. After the recent wave of terrorist bombings by the so-called European Muslim Freedom Fighters, it seems a local man from the city has been on a trail of bloody revenge. From Amsterdam, for Sky news, Kim Allman gives her report…”

  Nick Lucas sat slowly chewing on a king sized cheeseburger, his eyes not leaving the screen in front of him as he picked up several french fries and munched on them.

  “How you can eat that rubbish is beyond me Mister Lucas?” Nick held his hand up to Jeanette Descard, the meaning being obvious. Please keep quiet!

  “Thanks Peter! The scenes of violence in Amsterdam today took everyone by surprise. One man, armed with a handgun and three hand grenades, supposedly reaped bloody vengeance through both the well-known Red Light area and the city’s Jordaan District. Whilst on his killing spree, he willingly targeted ethnic minorities, shouting words such as ‘death to the Untermenschen’ and ‘revenge for the white peoples of Europe’. Only a specialist Dutch anti terrorist team managed to stop him, but not before he had murdered and maimed many innocent people.”

  “This is all we need,” said Jeanette.

  “It’s on practically every news channel,” muttered Nick in between mouthfuls, “even in the Middle East. As far as the news companies are concerned, this bad news, is very good news.” Finishing his cheeseburger, Nick wiped his hands on a napkin.

  Jeanette spoke again, slowly shaking her head despairingly, “God…people and the meaning of revenge, so many innocents slaughtered, and for what? The whole thing makes me sick!”

  The report continued, “…and the truly frightening aspect of these attacks is that several local people whom we interviewed, seemed unwilling to condemn the murderer’s actions.”

  “DOCTOR DESCARD TO COMMANDER HERTSCHELL’S OFFICE PLEASE, DOCTOR DESCARD TO THE COMMANDER’S OFFICE!” The female voice over the CEATA Headquarter’s Tannoy had a sense of urgency about it.

  “I presume that means Sergeant Piper has returned from the land of terrorists?”

  “Do I detect a hint of sarcasm in your voice Doc?” Nick muttered, wrapping up his leftovers.

  “Nick, you know you are treading on very dangerous ground when you call me Doc!”

  “Okay, sorry Doctor Descard. Yeah, Ash arrived about twenty two minutes ago, he looked like hell!”

  “Always to the second Mister Lucas, always to the second!” Jeanette turned and walked briskly down the central aisle of CEATA’s ever-busy Communications Room, towards the exit door.

  As Nick turned back to the screen, continuing to watch the worrying report on the Sky News Channel, he noticed a local Dutch couple being interviewed, giving their own thoughts on the day’s events. “Oh, yes…yes,” said the tall man, “we believe he acted out of anger and frustration, due to the continuing influx of immigrants into our country.”

  The girl at the tall man’s side spoke. “It’s not just here in Holland,” she said in broken English, “they are everywhere. They take our jobs and our livelihoods, then they murder us with bombs.”

  Sky News reporter Kim Allman held her microphone close to the couple. She looked genuinely shocked. “But many innocent people have died today, including local people, surely you can’t agree with that?”

  The couple shrugged their shoulders.

  Shit, thought Nick, this is really bad news. Slowly, he shook his head in disbelief and opened a can of cola.

  “DAMN IT ALL PIPER,” Colonel Mann’s harsh words were straight to the point, “YOU TOLD US YOU CAN CONTROL THE WOLF!”

  “I know sir…I know!” Ash Piper was tired, very tired. He could have done without sitting through the de-briefing, but he knew it was important.

  “Thank the Lord the press didn’t get any of this on record.”

  “It won’t happen again sir!”

  “IT BETTER, BLOODY WELL HADN’T, SERGEANT!” In Commander Maurice Hertschell’s office, Charles Mann sat in his usual position to the right of Piper, his chest heaving with anger and frustration. He was not happy!

  “It was a cock up from start to finish sir, a right bloody mess!”

  “Don’t give me any sob stories Ash!” The Colonel’s pitch had lowered somewhat, but the look of anger still lay ingrained on his face. “Stop blaming yourself for the death of the American woman’s husband. Shit happens Piper, especially in this line of work. You of all people know that.”

  Piper nodded. All he wanted to do was sleep, but at the moment there wasn’t time.

  “I still cannot believe one man caused such violence and devastation.” Maurice Hertschell spoke quietly.

  “These, obviously European men, acting as Muslim Fundamentalists are not just your run of the mill terrorists Commander,” Piper’s voice was sombre, “they are very professional and have definitely received in-depth military training.”

  “Yes,” Hertschell’s face was grim, his eyes steely, “but who is training them, and why are they doing this?”

  “They’re igniting small fires, tinderboxes…” sitting to Piper’s left, Jeanette Descard interrupted, “…the detonations across Europe, the firefight in the Safehouse, the death of the informer and a so called retaliatory strike against Muslims and immigrants in Amsterdam.” Jeanette gazed intently at the three men sat by her, “the tinderboxes, these small sparks as you might call them, are to ignite a larger fire.”

  “I know what you are getting at Jeanette,” Charles Mann continued, “whoever these lunatics are; they could well be trying to ignite the beginnings of a civil war across Europe.”

  “I had thought the same sir on the way back here, but there is something else as well, something we’re missing…” Ash Piper’s blue and amber eyes met Descard’s, “Doctor, what do you think?”

  “I totally agree. To ignite a civil war, you don’t just need a few terrorist devices detonating here and there, no matter what targets are chosen. I just hate to think what else they’re planning, whoever ‘they’ are!”

  “Right everyone,” Commander Hertschell rose from his chair, “we must study this recording from the informer in Amsterdam, for the moment it’s all we have to go on!”

  “I’ll order some coffee; it’s going to be a long night!” Charles Mann picked up the internal phone whilst still looking directly at Piper, who was nearly asleep. “You’d better catch some shut eye Sergeant.”

  “I’m fine sir.” Piper’s head and eyelids were drooping.

  “GET SOME SLEEP SERGEANT, THAT’S AN ORDER!”

  Wilhelm Oratz spoke quietly into his mobile phone. “The clock is ticking my Fuhrer.” Oratz was living on adrenaline and he knew it, for the Blood Order had been given and Phase Three brought forward, to spread the flames of hate across Europe like the plague.

  “Indeed it is my friend, now, I require an update on Phase Three.”

  “All our Scharfuhrers have received the Blood Order. Even as we speak, they are now working with our grenadiers on location.”

  “Excellent!”

  “Europe will begin igniting within twenty four hours. Several devices have already been placed.”

  “You have done well Wilhelm, you and Standartenfuhrer Bescann.” Otto Von Kurst breathed heavily, sensing the power and darkness soon to be cast over mainland Europe. “Now, we must meet at Camelot. Report directly to my house tomorrow for further discussion. I will contact the others.”

  Oratz knew why he would be visiting the Fuhrer’s house instead of his office, for that w
ould now be in pieces. “Of course, my Fuhrer.”

  “Falck and Kempler will be joining us again after their distinguished work with the grenadiers. Bescann says they have been of immense value. It is fitting for both of them to be sat at the round table once more.”

  “Splendid my Fuhrer, it will be good to see our friends again.”

  “I have work to do Wilhelm. We will discuss your forthcoming visit to St Petersburg tomorrow. Be sure to make initial contact with Vitali by the morning. Obviously, this is very…” Von Kurst paused, “…important.” Briskly, both men finished their conversation and closed communication.

  Maxine Winton cradled the body of her dead husband in her blood soaked arms, the Dutch BBE officers still standing silently on the cobbled paving, looking down at her, their faces vacant, pitiful. “Why?” she sobbed, her tears dropping onto her husband, “please…please tell me why?” Vengefully, Maxine screamed at Ash Piper as he walked into the distance, “YOU CAUSED THIS, YES, YOU! LOOK AT ME…”

  Piper didn’t want to look back. He had to return to Headquarters and quickly, but he could hear the American woman crying and screaming! He sighed, his head bowed low. She just wants answers he thought, but I have none, what’s done is done!

  Feeling desolate, miserable, Piper shook his head and holstered the USP under his leather jacket. He scanned the rooftops. Raptor One was descending, just behind a row of three storey houses. Slowly, his thoughts in turmoil, Piper continued walking then stopped, suddenly feeling strangely compelled to look back at the American tourist. He turned around, gazing at the carnage behind him.