Werewolves of the Other London

by Amy Cross

  Chaucer grabbed the radio. "Do you have Duncan?" he barked.

  "Hold," said the voice on the radio.

  "Do you have Duncan?" Chaucer said again.

  There was static for a moment, before the voice returned. "Yes, Sir. All targets identified, including Duncan."

  Chaucer smiled as he watched the commandos carrying bodies out of the smoke. All the bodies were now in their human forms, and all were seriously injured. They could heal, of course, but for that they would need time, and Chaucer wasn't planning to give them time. One by one, they were fed into the vaporizer Chaucer would have found it immensely more satisfying to see them die in their wolf forms, but the most important thing of all was to know that the werewolf menace was finally destroyed. He counted each one, until finally three commandos carried a kicking, struggling and bloodied figure toward the command platform.

  Withers stared open-mouthed.

  "Duncan?" asked Chaucer, unable to stifle a grin. "How nice to finally meet you."

  The commandos threw the figure to the ground. Covered in blood, with wounds all over his body, he looked up at Chaucer with a strange look in his eyes. Was it hatred? Anger? Fear? Chaucer wasn't sure. But it was the face of someone who had lost. Someone who had been beaten, and who knew it.

  "What's wrong?" Chaucer asked. "Cat got your tongue?" Without warning, he kicked the figure in the face, knocking him backwards. "I don't know if you've heard much about me," Chaucer said, "but I've heard a bit about you. After the Wolf King, you're apparently the next most dangerous werewolf."

  Although he tried to speak, the figure had suffered such a large injury to his lower jaw, the bones was almost hanging from his face. Sure, it would heal if given time, and Chaucer considered for a moment the possibility of giving Duncan that opportunity. After all, was it not appropriate for two great enemies to have a final conversation before one of them was inevitably killed? Then again, Chaucer knew that Duncan was not his greatest enemy. That had been the Wolf King, with whom Chaucer had endured many defeats before finally killing him earlier that day. No, maybe Duncan was just another werewolf after all.

  "What are you waiting for?" Chaucer asked, smiling, turning to the commandos. "You know what to do with him."

  The commandos dragged the figure away. Though he struggled valiantly and was almost able to get free, he was eventually carried to the door of the machine. Without any hesitation, they threw him in and there was a loud grinding sound, followed by the flash of the vaporizer

  "One more!" shouted a soldier as the last of the injured was dragged out and taken toward the vaporizer. A girl, not much older than her early 20s, she somehow looked as if she didn't belong in such a horrific place. There was something about her, something almost human in her face. Probably one of Duncan's little girlfriends, Chaucer thought as he watched her being thrown unconscious into the back of the machine. The familiar grinding noise rang out, and Chaucer waited for the flash, but nothing happened. Instead, the commandos seemed to be waiting for something.

  "Is something wrong?" Chaucer asked.

  "No, Sir," said Withers. "It's just... that girl was the last one, Sir. The last werewolf."

  "So vaporize her," Chaucer said.

  "The men were wondering, Sir," Withers continued, "whether you would like to be the one to press the button. To kill the last ever werewolf?"

  Chaucer smiled. He stepped away from the mobile command platform. When he reached the van, he found commandos waiting for him. "I'm honored," he said, reaching over and pushing the button on the side of the van. There was a flash, and the last werewolf was vaporized

  "It's done," said Chaucer, turning to look at the smoking ruins of the Great Hall.

  "Scans confirm it," said Withers as he came over. "There's nothing left inside. Nothing left anywhere. No more life-forms detected."

  "Victory," Chaucer said.

  "Yes, Sir," said Withers. He checked his watch. "5:01pm, Sir. Operation Lupine Howl is officially complete."

  Chaucer nodded. He'd waited for this moment, waited decades to finally be able to kill the last werewolves. Now that the moment was here, he wasn't quite sure how to react. "When we're gone," he said, "launch an air assault on their Great Hall. Destroy it completely. I don't even want that monument to their existence to remain."

  "Yes, Sir," said Withers.

  Chaucer spoke into his radio. "Get me Number One," he said.

  There was a pause, and then the upper-class voice of an elderly lady came over the airwaves.

  "Yes?" she asked.

  "Operation Lupine Howl is complete, Your Majesty," Chaucer said.

  "Excellent," said the voice, and the radio went dead.

  Chaucer closed his eyes and sniffed the air. "Do you smell that, Withers?" he asked.

  "Smell what, Sir?"

  Chaucer smiled. "A world without vermin. A world without werewolves. Can't you tell? They're gone. This land is free again. Free from their poison." He grinned with satisfaction. "Not many men can say that they've done what we did today, Withers. We wiped out an entire species. We killed them all. We put an end to the werewolf line forever. And we did it because we had to. Because they were vermin and they had been causing us trouble for long enough. I only wish the rest of the country could be told about what we did, so that they could celebrate our victory."

  Withers didn't say anything. He didn't particularly like seeing an entire species destroyed. Whatever Chaucer said, it was an act of genocide. As he headed over to the command post to update the data, he couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness that a proud, ancient race had been exterminated.

  For Chaucer, though, this was nothing more than total, deserved victory. It was a sign of his brilliance, that he had done the job that so many of his predecessors had said was impossible. He felt no more sadness than an exterminator feels after destroying a nest of bugs. And he knew that the best was yet to come. For although the general population knew nothing of this war against the werewolves, things were going to change. Chaucer smiled as he thought of what was to come. Everything believed the end-game had been played. But Chaucer knew that the final act in this glorious war was just about to begin. The extermination of the werewolves was just the first step.

  ***

  "Extraordinary," said Captain Lucas a couple of hours later. He'd arrived too late to witness the destruction of the werewolves, but he'd been fully briefed and he'd been given a quick tour of the remains of the Great Hall. He'd demanded to see all the data, to check everything, but he was finally satisfied. "Chaucer," he said, "I don't often congratulate soldiers. I don't think it's very good form. But what you've done here today is nothing short of a miracle. And for that you must be commended."

  Lucas and Chaucer were in Chaucer's private room at the temporary command tent that had been set up on the edge of the estate. Chaucer was preparing to address his soldiers, to congratulate them for a job well done.

  "I did the job I was ordered to do," he said, trying to hide the pride in his voice. "I must say, some men would be offended by the fact that so many people are surprised I was successful."

  "Oh, it's no dig at you, Chaucer," said Lucas. "It's just that these werewolves were tricky buggers, weren't they? I think GCHQ were pretty sure that they couldn't be killed at all."

  "It merely required application," said Chaucer. "A determined will and an iron refusal to give up. With those two qualities, a man can go far."

  "Quite right," said Lucas. "And you deserve a hell of a holiday after this."

  "A holiday?" Chaucer said, shocked. "Are you mad? I don't want a holiday. I want to keep pushing on with phase two of Operation Lupine Howl."

  "Phase two?" Lucas asked.

  "I've submitted plans," he said, his voice filled with urgency. "We are to proceed to London and take our forces down below the city. We are to clear that vermin-infested pit known as the Underworld. We must kill every stinking creature down there, completely sanitize the place and then... and then we can decide how b
est to use it to our own advantage."

  "You want to invade the Underworld?" Lucas said. "That's a new one. I've never heard anyone suggest that before. Do you really think it can be done?"

  "I killed the werewolves, didn't I?" Chaucer said. "They said that couldn't be done. So -"

  "But we've no idea," Lucas said, interrupting him, "what the Underworld is like. We've never even managed to get a scout out of there alive. We've only got stories and rumors, and even those aren't exactly pretty."

  "So what?" Chaucer said. "We send enough men and guns down there, we can kill anything we find."

  "But -"

  "Anything!" Chaucer roared. "We showed it today! We beat the werewolves, we can damn well beat anything we find in the Underworld!"

  Lucas nodded. "I suppose you're right, but let's think about it for a few days, eh? No point rushing. After all, the Underworld has been in place far longer than either of us have been around."

  "Still," Chaucer said. "It would be good to strike while we have the advantage."

  "Well," Lucas replied, "it's not me you have to convince, is it? It's GCHQ back in London."

  "I'll speak to them," Chaucer said. "I'll have them eating out of my hand when they realize that I've delivered the complete extermination of the werewolf species. The Underworld is a threat. If we don't attack them, they'll attack us. God knows what kind of evil creatures are down there, plotting away. We must strike when they least expect it, and we must be nothing short of ruthless in our pursuit of those vile monsters."

  "Perhaps," said Lucas. "And what about this Duncan chap?"

  "Duncan?" Chaucer said, turning to him.

  "Well, we've heard so much about him," said Lucas. "Can we be sure he's dead?"

  "I saw him die myself," Chaucer said. "I saw him being vaporized."

  Lucas nodded. "Excellent work. And the Wolf King?"

  "The same," said Chaucer. "I saw him die. I saw the fear in their eyes as they realized that there was nothing they could do to stop us from prevailing." He turned to the small window and look out. "It's over," he said, surveying the burnt, ravaged land before him.

  ***

  "We've won," said General Chaucer, grinning as Captain Lucas stood a little way behind him. "The stain of the werewolf menace has been wiped from this land forever. We have achieved what previous generations were unable to do." He looked at the soldiers. There were only twenty or so of them left, but they were among the best that the army had to offer. It was obvious, from their exhausted expressions and their cuts and bruises, that they had been through one hell of a war. But that war was over now, and Chaucer was determined to rouse his troops one final time. "You are all heroes. Each and every one of you. I know that Captain Lucas here agrees with me -"

  "Very much so," said Lucas.

  "And I will see to it," Chaucer said, "that each and every one of you gets the reward that you deserve." He took a deep breath. He had been waiting for this moment for so long, it was almost impossible to believe that it had finally arrived. "Victory," he said. "That is what we have achieved today. Total victory. The werewolves have lost. The humans have won. God bless us." He felt his spirit soaring. He had led his men to battle, and they had been victorious against the enemy beasts. "To victory!" he shouted, raising a fist to the sky. "To a world without werewolves!"

  Silence.

  Chaucer stared up at his fist, waiting for his soldiers to join in his celebration. Finally, he looked down at the faces of his men. "What is this?" he asked. "Are you sad about the poor little werewolves?"

  Silence. The soldiers just stared at him.

  "To a world without werewolves!" he shouted again.

  Silence.

  He turned to Captain Lucas, who shrugged.

  Turning back to the soldiers, Chaucer found himself - for once - almost completely lost for words. "If we cannot celebrate this day," he continued eventually, "then what day can we celebrate? If we committed genocide today, it was necessary genocide. Their species died so that our can live. Doesn't that mean something to you?"

  Silence.

  "This is only the beginning," Chaucer continued. "From here, we push on to take the Underworld. We force our way into that subterranean cauldron of... evil and mutation, and we cleanse it. Just as today we cleansed this place. And when we are done, humanity will be the dominant species on this planet, and the werewolves will be what they should always have been: just a tired old fairytale that no-one believes anymore."

  Silence. No a murmur from the crowd.

  "You're tired," Chaucer said, somewhat disconcerted by the failure of his men to join in with the celebration. "We lost some of our own men today, and that is an awful thing. An awful, awful thing. They must be commemorated, and they will never be forgotten. But they died fighting for humanity, and they would be cheering with me right now if only they were still alive. So we must not dwell on their loss, but instead celebrate the victory that they gave their lives to help us achieve."

  Silence.

  Chaucer stared at his men. Battle-hardened though they were, they should at least be able to help him celebrate this hugely important victory.

  He turned to Captain Lucas. "What's wrong with them?"

  Lucas shrugged again. "Maybe they're... not comfortable with celebrating the death of an entire species?"

  Chaucer sighed. "Bunch of liberals. Too busy pretending to care, when they should be celebrating their hard-fought victory." He turned back to the soldiers. "There's no need to pretend. I know that you fought a hard battle today, and I know that you must all understand the value of what happened here. So please, let your true feelings out. Don't hide behind a perception of honor. This is the time to relax and show your pride at having fought such a strong and valiant war. Show me that you understand the importance of this day."

  There was a cough from behind him. Chaucer turned to find Captain Lucas stepping to the front of the stage. "You heard the man," he said, with a hint of a smile. "Show him what you're really thinking."

  Chaucer turned back to look at his men, and then something truly shocking happened. Something that Chaucer couldn't understand at first, something that took everything he knew - everything he thought he knew - and turned it on its head. He stepped back, unable to process what he was seeing. One by one, his entire unit of commandos was turning into werewolves.

  "Blimey," said Captain Lucas, grinning. He turned to Chaucer. "That's got to be a shock, eh? Bet you weren't expecting that."

  Chaucer looked at the pack of wolves that now stood where his army had been. Their eyes filled with animal passion, they beasts stared back at him. They were clearly ravenous, ready to rip his body apart and feast on his blood. It was a fearsome sight, but the creatures seemed to be holding back, as if they were waiting to be given the order to attack. Still, they were clearly poised, ready to leap toward Chaucer at any moment.

  "Anyway," said Captain Lucas, sounding particularly pleased with himself. "This isn't the time to dwell on the past. Let's look to the future."

  Chaucer turned to Lucas. "Are you part of this?" he asked, shocked. "Are you in league with these creatures?"

  Lucas smiled. "I doubt very much that the real Captain Lucas had any affinity for werewolves. He was probably just like you. Cold, full of anger and hatred, determined to crush an entire species. In fact, if he were here, he'd probably have been just as happy as you were at the thought of all those werewolves dying." He paused for a moment. "But he's not here, is he? Because when he arrived on the estate, I managed to track him down and do horrible things to his guards, and then I managed to get him back to the Great Hall just before your commandos surrounded the place. And then your men stormed the building."

  "They killed the werewolves," Chaucer stuttered. "I saw them drag the wolves out and vaporize them."

  "No," said Lucas. "You saw your commandos go into the building, and you saw a bunch of people in your commandos' uniforms come out of the building. And you just assumed that everything was in order
, when in reality you'd just been tricked by the old werewolf switcheroo."

  "I saw Duncan die!" Chaucer shouts. He was sure that this had to be some kind of cruel trick, that there was no way he could have been fooled. Werewolves weren't smart. He knew that. They were vermin, to be crushed by the superior humans. So how... "I saw him die!" Chaucer said again.

  "No," said Lucas. "You saw Captain Lucas die. I was very careful to crush his jaw so that he couldn't tell you who he really was when he was dragged out in front of you. I knew you'd never actually seen Captain Lucas in the flesh before, so I knew I could pass for him, at least for long enough to get you out here. And since you'd never seen Duncan in the flesh, and since the commandos assured you that the man they had captured was Duncan, you were happy to believe that you'd won. Even as you gave the order for the man you thought was Duncan, but was actually Captain Lucas, to be vaporized." Lucas stepped toward Chaucer and leaned in close, his face up against the other man's. "Hi," he said.

  Chaucer stared back in shock at the face before him. Could it be true? His entire unit of commandos had been swapped for a group of werewolves, and Captain Lucas - the man sent up from London to oversee the final phase of Operation Lupine Howl - had been swapped with...

  "Duncan," Chaucer said slowly.

  "I've heard a lot about you," said Duncan. "Sorry I had to pretend to be someone else when we first met, but you know how these things go. Sometimes you have to be a little devious." He turned to the wolves. "Okay, ladies and gentlemen." He stepped away from Chaucer. "Get him."

  Jess

  Sometimes it's not enough to kill someone. Sure, you could rip out their throat, crush their spine, or eat their heart. But that's not going to satisfy you. No, you really need to make them suffer first. Torture them, even. You need to have them squirming before you. You need to give them a moment of false hope, and then you need to take it away, to crush their soul, and then give them hope again, and just keep on doing that until there's nothing more that they can do but break down and beg for death. And even then, perhaps it's not enough. Perhaps you have to keep going. I don't know exactly at what point it becomes enough to simply finish them off.