We lost the track completely early on the second day. This drove us into a search pattern, in the hopes of breaking the trail again, or finding another track from their travels through the area. Finding a human path through this stuff would have been bad enough. Finding a trail made by combat trained 'Thropes, well, it was a bit tougher. We spent the next week and a half beating the bushes trying to cross their trail. Every other day, we would shift to human form for the night, just to preclude the risk of getting "Stuck". One of the dangers of being a 'Thrope is that if you spent too long in animal form, you risked the possibility of getting stuck. Not because you can't change back as much as because you forget why you want to, and forget to care. The longer the animal form has to work on you, the more natural it seems, and the less attractive returning to human form is. It's sort of like the old British Empire bit about "going native". Long-term planning and some of the higher reasoning skills diminish, and you finally revert to a sort of real intelligent predator, that forgets its link to mankind. I sort of feared that this had happened to our vets.
On the day that I was planning to call it off and come in, we found the trail again. It started with a fresh deer kill that had been dropped in the last day or so. As we came upon the kill, I smelled some of the same animals that had been at the other one, and a couple different ones. For instance the weasel type was gone, but the big cat was in on this one, and there was a new wolf. There were also some human scents that were about the same age as the animal smells, which was weird, but I would worry about it later. This kill wasn't very far off the hiking trail, maybe twenty feet or so, maybe we had some snowshoe hikers or some cross-country skiers out here. "Later" turned out to be about thirty minutes.
As we were following the trail made by our poachers, we found the body...this one wasn't a deer. He had been young, about twenty-three, six foot even, and wasn't really dressed for the weather. He also had a high and tight, and dog-tags, his name was Sergeant Daniel Brown, USMC.
Chapter Nine
Whoever had killed young Sergeant Brown had been thorough, I would give him that. We had smelled the kill long before we got on it, but only as a dead animal. Brown had been eviscerated, and his throat ripped out; Brown also smelled like wolf. Well, I thought, that cuts it. Uncle Lars' request for me to protect these guys just went out the window. Damn it, they killed a man. And not just a man but a Marine, a fellow warrior. No, it was time to put these guys down. Behind me I heard "Uh, uh." Well Pete was off to my left, and he couldn't say anything anyway without changing, so I looked behind me. No one. "Look at it again...look at it all." Damn. Now I'm hearing voices. Still, OK, look at it again, look at it all. Deep woods, dead Marine, face sliced up, throat torn out, and guts hanging out...smells like wolf. I changed quickly and put on my clothes, both so that we would be in uniform when I called this in, and to get hands. Pete stayed in cat form, which was fine, he was on over-watch anyway, and he could do that better in cat form. I didn't want to disturb the body much, the forensic guys would bitch me out if I did, but I did notice one thing, no wounds on the hands or arms, what we called defensive wounds. Whoever had done this had taken him by enough surprise that he didn't fight back. Well, that was sort of weird. And I thought of something else, and went back to the deer...yep, it was a white tail. There's only one problem, there ain't no white tails on the Olympic Peninsula. And one more thing, Brown was in uniform, and no weapons. Not just nothing on him, but no pack, no web belt with empty holster, nothing. Maybe they took his gear? I don't know, but it's odd to find a Marine out here in the middle of the Olympic National Park, in uniform, no coat, no weapons, no skis, nothing. Swell, we have a mystery.
I called in the body on my radio, with the GPS coordinates, also from the radio, and the nearest place to land a chopper, from looking around. An hour later Lieutenant Murphy was there with Ranger Tigner behind her. Fortunately, there was a place they could land nearby, or they would have had a Hel of a hike. Half an hour after that, the forensics team showed up. Murphy, Pete and I did an initial search for evidence, and then the forensics guys went over it all again when they got there. They photographed and measured everything to within an inch of its life, then took the body, the dead deer, and the few scraps of hair we found, and flew out. Pete and I flew out with the L.T. and Tigner. The chopper was awful quiet on the way back.
Once we landed at the head Ranger station, we all trooped into Tigner's conference room. It was like something straight out of the GSA catalog. I could see the description in my mind. "Conference room, small, for staff of fifteen people or less, junior level management." Murphy started the ball. "John, I want those guys found! It was bad enough when they were just poaching, now they've gone and murdered someone. God damn it, find them!"
"Hold on boss." I replied as I sat down. "Yeah, it looks like the 'Thropes work at first glance, but there's some stuff that just doesn't ring true."
"John, I know they're vets, and I know you're a 'Thrope, but if you can't find these guys and bring them to justice, tell me now, and I'll find someone else for the case."
"Oh, I'll find them, but just wait a second, who decided they're guilty without a trial?"
"Oh for the love of God...what do you need, a signed confession? The victim was shredded for Pete's sake."
"Yes, he was, but let me ask you something, why were there no defensive wounds? And where was his gear? What was he doing out here in the first place in uniform? And why was there a white-tailed deer dead up the trail?"
"Come on, these are...I mean THEY are, 'Thropes we're talking about here."
"You're so damn fast a normal human probably doesn't get a chance to get defensive before the beasts rip your throat out. As for the victim's gear, the bad guys took it with them. And what the Hell does a white tailed deer have to do with anything?"
At this point Tigner woke up, figuratively speaking. "Wait a minute, are you sure it was a white tail?"
"Well, we'll wait on the labs to be positive, but yeah, I'm sure."
"There ain't no white-tails up here. Hell, there ain't no white-tails this side of the Cascade range."
"I know that, and you know that, but that dead deer, he didn't seem to know that."
Murphy got back in the game. "So what? A single white-tail deer somehow makes it over to this side of the Sound, and gets killed by the poachers. Our victim stumbles upon the poachers and gets killed for it...find them!"
"Boss, I'm telling you, it ain't how it looks. Just wait for the lab reports, and let me look into this. For one thing, our victim smelled like wolf."
"Great, that's going to be useful in the case. We know the murderer is one of the wolves, maybe we can get some other animal to testify for immunity."
"No boss, you don't get it, I didn't get either it until a moment ago. He doesn't smell like a human killed by a wolf, he smells like a wolf. He's a 'Thrope, and I guarantee there isn't any 'Thrope out there that can surprise a fellow 'Thrope enough to kill him with no defensive wounds at all."
"All right. What do you want to do?"
"Well, I think the helos will have done one of two things to our 'Thropes. Either they're going to head for the hills and go into deep cover, or they'll come to the L/Z to see if it's a retrieval. It all depends on how messed up these guys are. So, I want to go back out there for twenty-four hours. If they come to the LZ within that time, great. If not, then they are in full escape and evade mode, and I'm not going to be able to find them for a while. Then I want to go talk to the Marine Corps and find out if anyone knows why Sergeant Brown was out there. What I don't want is a full press search for these guys with a "shoot on sight" order, at least until we hear what the lab has to say."
"It's against my better judgment, but we'll play it your way until the lab results get back, but you better be right." Murphy looked like she just ate a green persimmon, but she was willing to give me some time; that was all I needed.
Pete and I were flown back to the LZ and took up an over-watch position, in hopes th
at our 'Thropes would show up, but no such luck. After a full day, we called it off, and called in to be picked up. Wherever these guys were, it wasn't here. I was pretty sure that they had crawled into a hole and pulled it in after themselves. It was time for a beer and a good meal, maybe several beers, come to think of it.
After we got back to the boat, I gave Mary a call, just to let her know that we were OK. We talked while I cooked dinner. Pete's a great partner, but the man could ruin MRE's. We talked about the case, and the house, her classes and when I could get away. Basically everything under the sun, it was very domestic. She reminded me that Thanksgiving was next week and wanted to know if I wanted to do it with her family. I said sure, that would be great, I'm pretty sure that I am not quite welcome at my family's table this year. We even kissed each other goodnight over the phone. When I hung up, I had to give Pete one of those looks. The one that says: "Give me a hard time about this, and you're getting burned Top Ramen for dinner." He wisely chose to let it lie.
The next morning Pete and I got up bright and early. After the morning run and jerks, we got on the phone to an old shipmate of ours at Bangor Submarine Base. They have a detachment of Seals permanently stationed there to go with a couple of the submarines they have stationed there. That's about all I can say about that. Still, there was a few of our old running mates over there, one of which was the Bull-Frog for the detachment. I had the number of his cell phone because we were old drinking buddies, and he was my man at arms in the SCA. That and because he kept me in the loop periodically, in case I got called back up. Oh, I guess I should explain, a Bull-Frog is the senior enlisted man in a SEAL team. Anyhow, we got on the phone with Jay and asked if he could give us an intro to the Marine commander for the Marine Corps Security Force Company. Jay was the sort of guy that put the Brute in Brute Squad. Six foot eight, three hundred pounds, black hair, blue eyes, deep voice prone to growling, and had a wicked wrap. (Uh, that's a sword blow.) (I should also mention that the MCSFC is a company in name only. They're actually at about Battalion strength.)
Soon, we were driving over to Bangor with an appointment to meet Lt. Col. Wright, the CO of MCSFC. The Company Sergeant Major met us at the parking lot and escorted us into the "holy of holies." The Colonel's office was also straight out of the GSA catalog. "Office; senior officer, for the use of, one each; with attached sleeping quarters, and outer office." Attractive if you like Marine Corps blue and red, with pictures of wonderful places the president had found to send guys to kill and die. The Colonel was a little guy, about five foot three, and might weigh about one hundred twenty pounds, all of it was muscle. His hair was too short to give a color to, his eyes were piercingly blue, and his grip was nothing short of amazing. He walked up to us as we walked into the office and shook hands, then offered us a seat, and went to work.
"Gentlemen, Senior Chief Pierson asked me to give you a little of my time. I have always been willing to do favors for him, he's done one or two for me. So, that being said, I will guess that this is about Sergeant Brown, am I right?"
"Yes, Colonel, it is." I replied. "We need to know what he was doing out there. We think it might be very important to another investigation we have ongoing."
"Before I answer, I want to know a few things myself. Like why you are investigating this instead of NCIS, or the FPI? And why Senior Chief Pierson was willing to use his influence to get you two into my office?"
"Well, as to why we are investigating it instead of NCIS, we'll happily share information with them, but it's off-base, so it's our case. Unless, of course, you would like to tell us that he was on a duty assignment? As to the FPI, I don't want those self-serving zealots with guns anywhere near my woods."
"I see; why do I get the feeling that you and the FPI have a history?"
"Maybe because the Colonel has an above-room-temperature IQ?" The moment I said it, I knew it was a smart-ass comment that I should have edited. The problem is my edit button is broke.
Colonel Wright looked at me with what used to be called an old-fashioned look, then continued. "You still haven't told me why Senior Chief was willing to put our working relationship on the line by getting your smart-ass mouth into my office."
"Well, Colonel, that would probably be because blood is thicker than water, and we've shed a bit with each other."
"You two are former SEAL's?" His facial expression spoke volumes. I got the feeling that he wasn't too impressed by the standards of the Teams these days if we could get in.
"STSCS (ss) SEAL John Fisher, USN retired, at your service. On my left, ATC (aw) SEAL Peter Sims, USN retired. Now will you tell us what Sergeant Brown was doing up there?"
"Since I guess it's all in the family so to speak. Brown was trying to make contact with a group of "forgotten" veterans that are living up in the hills. The Commandant of the Corps found out that they are supposed to be up there. He has ordered us to try to make contact with these guys and try to bring them in from the cold. His actual words were "I have always been taught that the Corps never leaves their own behind. Gods damn it, we failed these guys, and I want it fixed!"
"OK, why Brown?"
"Because he was the fastest, most woods-wise, and smartest Marine I have in my command. And he should have been more able to make contact with these particular Vets. They're supposed to be 'Thropes, and Brown is a werewolf."
"We were pretty sure that he was a wolf, we just weren't sure that you knew, and had absolutely no idea what he was up there for. So, Colonel, what would you say the odds are of someone sneaking up on the Sergeant? Sneaking up so well that he never got a hand up before they ripped him up?"
The Colonel just looked at me and laughed, the Sergeant Major joined in. After a few moments the two of them wiped their eyes and shook their heads. The SarMajor looked at me and said "Lad, in thirty-three years in this man's Corps I have never seen a guy as fast as Sergeant Brown was. This boy could have eaten you SEALS for breakfast."
Well, I wasn't in there for a pissing contest, so I let that pass. But I did want to know one thing. "What was a 'Thrope doing in a line outfit?"
The SarMajor fielded this one too. "In the Marines every unit has a Recon platoon. Our normal TO&E has two 'Thropes per Recon Squad, but that's theoretical. In reality if we have three per two squads we're jumping for joy. Most of the 'Thropes that are actually willing to serve want to go for you guys. The best recruiting poster they ever came up with was that stupid witch from Cali ranting about attack beasts. Hell, it sounded enough like fun I almost wanted to get bit."
I was still going to let it lie, but Pete had had enough "Ya know, we could arrange that."
The SarMajor looked at him and quirked an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"We could arrange to make you eligible for SEAL Team Twelve, our old unit." With that, Pete reached over, took the Sergeant Major's hat off, turned it inside out, and put it back on his head again, all so fast that all I could see was a blur. I'm fast...in fact, I'm damn fast, but Pete has always been so much faster than me, it's like I'm standing still. The only reason I can take him three falls out of five, is that I'm bigger, and can take more damage. I don't think the SarMajor realized that he had been touched for a second or two. Then he reached up, and took off his hat, looked at it for a second, turned it right side out and put it back on his head. The Colonel watched him do it, and then looked very pointedly in his eyes and cleared his throat.
The SarMajor looked back a little sheepishly, nodded, and said "I may have spoken a little hastily on the subject of who could win in an all-out fight. I think I would pay lots to watch the cage match though."
Something else was bugging me though. "Why no weapons?"
Colonel Wright fielded this one. "That was my decision. This was to be a surveillance and possible contact mission, not an assault. We didn't want to harm these guys, we wanted to bring them in for help. Some of them, maybe most of them, may not even know that they're legal citizens now. The level of knowledge on PTSD and related disorders is several order
s of magnitude greater now than during 'Nam. We can help these guys, and we owe it to everyone that has ever been in uniform to try."
Well, I could hardly argue with that, but it raised several more questions. Like why was he killed? Was there some sort of falling out in the vet pack? A third party? Maybe some 'Thrope group that wanted these guys to stay in the cold for some reason?
The Colonel was just about to say something when my phone rang. I looked down and saw that the number was the main office, specifically Lieutenant Murphy. I apologized, and explained that it was the boss, and I had to take it, and then opened the phone. "Fisher."
I heard the Lieutenant's voice on the other end of the line. "John, I don't know how you knew, but you were right. Brown wasn't killed by 'Thropes."
"OK, what have you got?"
"He has scars around both wrists from silver-plated handcuffs, and the wounds in his chest and throat didn't have any foreign DNA, but did have flecks of silver. I just don't see a bunch of 'Thropes that are living in the bush having silver weapons made up, designed to make wounds that look like 'Thrope claw wounds...but we have another problem, John."
"OK, don't leave me hangin'."
"It seems that Sergeant Brown is a Senator's son. And not just any Senator, but the right honorable Senator John Brown from Iowa. The guy that is making such a big noise about reversing the decision regarding recognizing preternatural beings as citizens."
Keeping The Faith (John Fisher Chronicles Book 2) Page 10