by Ian Redman
“That sounds a wonderful idea and no expense spared my love, buy whatever you wish.”
“I will Otto! Thank you…I miss you.”
“And I miss you, take care.” Abruptly, Von Kurst ended the call, his thoughts now distracted by the woman with whom he was still so sexually fascinated. He turned to Helga; she was eating the raw, blood soaked meat from the plate and drinking copious amounts of water. Smiling again, he sat on the bed beside her.
With her eyes still bloodshot, Helga wiped her bloodied hand across her mouth, drank again, then put the glass down. “So…how is the bitch?” she asked.
Von Kurst didn’t reply as he took her hand and kissed it, the smell of the raw, bloody meat flaring his nostrils. With a deep resonating growl he placed a piece into his mouth and began to chew, his thoughts racing again. It was time to utilise his next stage of planning, to make contact once again with his two friends. “The bitch as you call her, is fine Helga.”
“I will kill her one day Otto, I mean it!”
The smile on Otto Von Kurst’s face receded as he picked up another piece of meat. Oh Helga, he thought, how you are changing, and quite possibly for the worse, I fear.
“Over one hundred and seventy thousand people in Paris, nearly one hundred thousand in Rotterdam, which is totally at a standstill, and get this…” Nick Lucas once again enjoyed playing the bearer of important news as he gazed thoughtfully at the people around him, all of whom were seemingly hypnotised by the images on the large screen in front of them, “over half a million in Munich. Shit, I didn’t expect that many people would attend an event like this.”
“Von Kurst will be pleased,” muttered Jeanette.
“Indeed he will,” said Piper, “the German people are showing their pride in this march, just like the others, and as we all know it’s only going to lead to further civil unrest.” He turned to CEATA’s French IT genius. “Jean-Paul, pull up the route the protestors are taking in Paris will you?”
“Of course,” Jean-Paul tapped dexterously at his keyboard, bringing into view a large map of the beautiful city. “As you can see, the march begins at the Sacre Coeur Basilica and leads down to the Jardin Des Tuileries Gardens, across to the Place de la Concorde and finishes down the Avenue Des Champs Elysees.”
“A pleasant walk,” muttered Tim Winters.
“What about the threat of detonations?” asked Jeanette.
“They’ll find places,” said Piper, “it all depends on how the grenadiers want to strike, and how much panic and destruction they require.”
“The police forces in all areas have been on high alert for some time Sergeant Piper,” Jean-Paul’s look was intense, “they are well aware of the dangers.”
“You know as well as I do my friend, if terrorists are hell bent on sowing death and destruction they will find a way to do it, and my gut feelings are telling me that no-one is safe from the New Totenkopf.”
“Hold on…” Nick sounded excited, “there are reports coming in of violence in Paris, yes, here we go…”
The screen showed a French reporter from the EuroNews channel shouting frenziedly down her microphone, her Anglo French accent seemingly panic stricken. “THIS IS WHAT THE AUTHORITIES HAD EXPECTED, AND, OH…!” she ducked her head as an empty beer bottle flew past the camera, “IT SEEMS THE MARCHERS ARE BEING TARGETED BY GANGS OF, WHAT SEEM TO BE IMMIGRANTS, MOSTLY YOUTHS…AND…” There was loud shouting behind the reporter as she cowered again, telling her cameraman to be careful. “THE GENDARMES HAVE BEEN CALLED IN, BUT ALREADY WE ARE RECEIVING REPORTS OF ESCALATING VIOLENCE AROUND THE PLACE DE LA REPUBLIQUE. OH, WE HAVE TO MOVE…!” It was another bottle, this time hitting the young woman heavily on her right temple that made her drop to the floor. “This is Simone Sesin,” she said weakly, “reporting for EuroNews, at the March Against ….” The screen became fuzzy, suddenly returning to the studio as another presenter apologised for the lost transmission.
“Shit!” muttered Nick.
“This is just the beginning, trouble’s coming…” Piper stood still and closed his eyes as the hairs on the back of his neck began to stiffen, “…I can feel it!”
How good to feel fully satiated thought Jurgen Falck. With a soft, gentle whine he rolled onto his back, his overly large paws pointing upwards to the foliage of the forest’s treeline. He let out a distinct growl, not from anger or threat, but simply pleasure. His and Kempler’s bellies were full, the red deer stag having served them well. Now, after drinking copious amounts of water from a nearby stream, they had both become meat drunk. Time for rest thought Falck, curling up and tucking his tail neatly around his incredible Were form. Idly, Kempler did the same.
The hunt had been successful, but now it was time for sleep…and dreams.
Helga Zeist sat in silence as Otto Von Kurst continued telling her of his plans. He did not mind, for he trusted her…implicitly. “They are slowly eating away at our once great Fatherland and it cannot continue Helga.” Helga nodded her head, her eyes still openly bloodshot as Von Kurst sat sweating, his emotions getting the better of him. “Look at them, all those people marching in Munich. They march for a greater Germany, for our Aryan past and the British, look, in London, standing proud with their banners and Union Jacks…and Paris… Rotterdam, the people of Europe at last are speaking out, and how many more want to?” He shook his head, a look of vile retribution radiating from his heavily bloodshot eyes, “but at present, so many don’t have the courage to tell the stinking Untermenschen to leave our countries alone!” Their gaze fell transfixed on the television screen in Von Kurst’s bedroom. “The Untermenschen are disgusting filth Helga and Europe, not just Germany…” Von Kurst leapt up, his arms outstretched, the look on his face now one of pure hatred, “…MUST BE CLEANSED OF THIS VILE PLAGUE!” The Fuhrer’s voice continued to rise with emotion. Be careful he thought, for the beast still waits to rage. He must remain calm. Helga sat and listened, drinking more water. She growled, a low growl, barely audible, but it was enough! A sign to show Von Kurst her feelings were the same. “The New Totenkopf,” Von Kurst continued, “and our grenadiers were mine and Wilhelm’s idea my love. Ever since our early days of friendship at Dresden University of Technology, we both knew we had a dream. Shit! If it was one aspect of modern life my dear father couldn’t stomach, it was the Untermenschen, creeping slowly across our borders. Vile, filth ridden vermin, taking our jobs, our houses…AND OUR PRIDE!”
There was silence as Helga left the bed, walked over to Von Kurst and placed her arms around him. She kissed him, passionately, her tongue dividing his lips, snaking into his mouth. For a few moments Von Kurst forgot his hatred, then, as his eyes focused once more on the television he spoke again, “today Helga, Phase Four of Project Amen begins. Further devices will detonate at allocated times, but not just around the marchers, oh no…for there must be death, destruction and suffering all across Europe, and if we have to kill innocent people, even our own countrymen to fan the flames of war and hate…then so be it!” Von Kurst’s fists clenched as his thoughts ran wild, “and of course, the ones who will take the blame…will be the European Muslim Freedom Fighters!”
Helga spoke, her voice deep and menacing as she disrobed, showing Von Kurst her stimulating, sexually athletic body. “Otto, I am with you, and you are right…as always.” She growled, this time louder and more defined, “if innocents have to be killed, to help rid us of this filth…that is acceptable.” The female Were smiled, a dark smile, not the smile of the old Helga Zeist, for this smile contained a savage intensity, an intensity to chill the heart of any man.
But not that of Otto Von Kurst! “This is fate my dear Helga, the two of us together, leading the Were to our own greater destiny, in a disinfected Europe.”
Slowly, sensuously, Helga began to undress her lover, unbuttoning his shirt, then his trousers. “I want you naked,” she whispered and soon he was. She took his hand and led him to the bed. Gently she lowered his body onto the sheets and mounted him, his fully e
ngorged penis ramming into the moist dampness between her legs. She leaned forward, her exquisite breasts lowering to Von Kurst’s face, “suck my nipples Otto, lick them, bite them, TORMENT ME!” He did so, their lovemaking becoming ever more intense, their bodies writhing in unison. With a mixture of sexual screams and blood curdling roars, the two Were became as one, their strengths entwining as Von Kurst penetrated his lover further and further. The two human wolves revelled in their lovemaking, totally oblivious to the scenes behind them on the television screen as another news reporter, this time in Rotterdam, reported hearing gunshots near the marching crowds. “And what of the lone one?” gasped Helga, her body riding Von Kurst’s with sensual rhythm, “he threatens us…he threatens all our kind.”
Von Kurst pushed further into her body, enjoying his heated climax, “he will pay
dearly…my love,” his voice, just a whisper.
“When Otto, when?”
“Soon…very soon.”
With their orgasms spent, their bodies drained and tired, but not their minds, Helga gently released herself from their copulation and rolled over to her lover’s side. “How do you know this?” she asked.
“I have seen him in my dreams, screaming in agony, begging for mercy,” Von Kurst smiled then laughed, a sadistic, vile sound.
“And who will make the lone one…beg for mercy?”
Von Kurst turned his face to meet Helga’s. “Lana will,” he whispered.
“CEATA Followers are now well attached,” said Colonel Mann, “Von Kurst and Oratz aren’t going anywhere without us knowing.” The CEATA Senior Command team, including Tim Winters, were once again in Commander Hertschell’s office, ready for further discussion and planning.
“This is crazy,” a very annoyed Nick Lucas wanted to make his feelings known, “why don’t we just arrest the two of them now and have done with it?”
“And what then Nick?” Piper’s simplistic question caught his friend off guard.
“Well… we get to the truth, find out who these grenadiers are and arrest them!”
“Nick,” Piper felt like shaking his head in dismay, but didn’t want to hurt his friend’s feelings, “it’s not that simple. If we arrest Von Kurst and Oratz, there is no telling what could happen. I guarantee you he will have a failsafe scenario planned with his so called, grenadiers.” Nick sat speechless as Piper continued, “think about it Nick, there are probably well over one hundred of these highly trained terrorists across Europe, and no one knows who they are, or what they look like. If we arrest Von Kurst they will go to ground and lord knows what they would do next. No Nick, there’s far more to this than meets the eye. We have to find out more about Von Kurst himself, that’s why I need your help to get me into the cocktail evening at VKE’s Dusseldorf offices.”
Nick nodded his head, “yeah, I guess you’re right Ash.”
“As for the warehouse facility,” Colonel Mann intervened, “Field Agents 022 and 031 are both in position. They will keep watch on any movement regarding Building Four. If there’s any hint of trouble we can order a stationed Team Echo detachment in there within minutes. But at present, we let Von Kurst make the next move.”
“He won’t make any moves regarding the warehouse facility Colonel,” Piper sounded very sure of himself, “at least not for the moment. Believe me, we are a thorn in his flesh and he doesn’t even know who we are. No, there will be no movement at the warehouse!”
“You seem very sure of yourself with regard to these matters Sergeant,” Jeanette Descard’s singular tone of voice brought Piper’s face instantly to hers.
“You must trust me with my feelings Doctor, the wolf speaks a great deal to me now.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed Sergeant, but there is something else that’s troubling me.” The room fell quiet, “I must ask you about this sixth sense you seem to have developed. Do you think these creatures, these werewolves, also have this sixth sense?”
She’s delving at something thought Piper, I know that look in her eyes. “Yes Doctor, I do!”
“I’m sorry Ash, but is there anything else on your mind regarding this…sixth sense?” Piper was surprised at Jeanette’s use of his first name. “You see, I have noticed that you don’t seem to be sleeping too well, and you’ve seen the medics regarding the headaches you keep getting, haven’t you?”
Clever girl, thought Piper.
“I didn’t know anything about headaches,” Colonel Mann sounded irritated.
“The headaches have ceased Colonel, they were nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Really?” Jeanette sounded openly sarcastic as Piper looked at her intensely. Just what the hell are you getting at Doctor, he thought?
“Ash,” again, the use of his first name, “I think you are hiding something from us. I know about your headache when your team assaulted Bescann’s farmhouse. This sort of thing is happening a little too often, isn’t it?”
Grim faced, Piper turned to Tim Winters.
“Sorry mate, I had to report the incident!” Winters shrugged his broad shoulders, “I just thought there was something strange about the timing of it, and you did look like shit!”
“Fair enough!” Piper’s thoughts quickly became jumbled. Should I tell them about the dreams, he asked himself?
“Well, Sergeant?” Commander Hertschell’s stern voice pushed Piper into making his decision.
“Yes sir, there is something else you should know.”
It was the reflection of the full moon that caught Jurgen Falck’s and Fritz Kempler’s blood red eyes as they gracefully loped over to the stream, lowered their imposing wolf forms and began to drink. The stream’s water was ice cold, like the glow from the moon. For even with their blood red field of vision, the ever-present globe in the star lit night sky still looked as beautiful as ever as it gleamed steadfastly amidst the forested canopy where they stood. They drank further then stopped, lifted their heads and scanned their surroundings, the chilled water dripping from their snouts as they began to sniff the still night air. The mist thought Falck, it has returned, the cold white mist. It often appeared in their dreamscape, swirling all around them.
Then it began…the howling…another wolf, mournful, ethereal and very close. Falck turned his furred head to Kempler’s. They growled then whined together in unison, the urge falling upon them to resonantly reply, to reverberate their night calls to their friend and leader…their Fuhrer. Gracefully lowering their pointed ears and lifting their heads in celebration of their communication, they sang into the night. Like the howling they were answering, their song was mournful, ethereal and most of all…eternal, for their wolf song had echoed through Europe’s forests for many years. Many long years.
They continued the calling through their dreamscape, as the reply drew ever closer.
“So are you telling us Sergeant, these creatures, these werewolves, are actually communicating with you…in your dreams?” Colonel Mann’s face had a look of intrigue about it.
“Oh shit man, this is spooking me out!”
“Quiet Nick!” said the Colonel.
“Yes sir, that’s precisely what I’m telling you. I see them and hear them…in my dreams.”
“A psychic link,” muttered Jeanette, “they can communicate with each other, in a dreamlike state.” She stared at the Colonel, then at the Commander.
“Precisely,” Piper sat back in his chair, waiting for the next question.
“These dreams, Sergeant,” the Commander took over, “tell us about them, what have you seen and heard?”
Piper paused. He started to sweat, his thoughts racing back to the surreal visions he had recently encountered. “There are three main aspects which trouble me sir, namely, a woman’s voice inside my head. I feel the woman is sick, but she never shows herself. She sounds gentle…caring…she asks me not to hunt…”
“To hunt,” Commander Hertschell interrupted, “what do you mean Sergeant, to hunt?”
“It is a feeling inside me sir. Fate is bring
ing me face to face with the one I must hunt.” The senior team members of CEATA gazed at each other, disbelief written across their faces as Piper continued. “Secondly, two wolves, powerful beasts, hunting me, and then there is the other…third wolf, the most powerful of the three. This wolf…” wiping droplets of sweat from his brow, Piper paused, “…wants revenge!”
“Tell me about the wolves,” said the Commander.
“The two together radiate a presence of extreme menace. My initial thoughts tell me they are highly disciplined, well trained men, with a possible military background. They are waiting for me or someone around me.” Piper began to feel nauseous, “they are ready for the hunt.”
“The hunt Ash, tell us more about the hunt!” asked Jeanette.
“Yes…the hunt…” whispered Piper, “the taking of life, it is a symbol…” Piper stopped talking, his eyes swiftly becoming bloodshot, his voice rising, “…OF OUR KIND!”
“Oh my God!” Jeanette pushed herself back into her seat as an intense feeling of fear rushed through her body.
Piper’s voice was now a yell, but low, monotone and menacing. With seemingly brutal force he smashed his right fist down on the arm of his chair. “THE HUNT IS OUR RITUAL, A WAY OF REJOICING IN OUR FORM. TO HAVE THE FEELING OF THE HUNT COURSING THROUGH OUR VEINS IS…” he leaned over and vomited.
“ASH!” Jeanette sprang from her chair, so too did Tim Winters.
“Okay Ash, take it easy,” Winters and Descard helped Piper up.
“Get him some water,” Colonel Mann looked openly shocked but was not prepared to stop pushing his new field agent, he wanted further information and was determined to get it. “Sergeant, I realise you are not feeling well, obviously this has something to do with the possible psychic link you have with these creatures, but you must continue. Do you understand?”
Piper wiped away the bile from his lips and drank the water given to him by Jeanette, “yes sir…I understand.”