RED HAZE: A Werewolf Story for the 21st Century (11 page)

“And this man travels across Europe, recruiting for his new political group?” Ash Piper continued the questioning with the people around him, fully armed and prepared for combat.

“Yes! Listen, I am sorry about the bombings, I didn’t think they were serious.” De Groot was clearly shaken thought Piper, and thoroughly scared to death. “I didn’t want women and children killed. Oh shit man, I’ve got to get away, they’ll kill me for sure!”

“Listen,” Piper grabbed De Groot’s lapel, his powerful eyes staring fixedly at the shaking man sat in front him, “we will get you away, now concentrate on my questions. Give me a description of the man who is recruiting, anything, his height, colour of hair, distinguishing marks, anything damn it!” Piper’s breathing was heavier, his eyes becoming bloodshot. Only seconds to go, he thought.

The wolf was preparing for the kill, and just for the moment, for these last few seconds, he had to control it!

“Ready when you are,” said Jochen, his voice just a whisper. He was speaking through his mobile phone, at the bottom of the staircase that would take him to the third floor apartment, and his target.

“We are nearly in position, two more minutes...” Gerhard’s voice was calm and collected. He was in the passenger seat of one of two locally based transit vans. Normally the vans would have been used for the delivery of goods to various cafés and restaurants in the area, but this time the grenadiers had made sure their owner and his business colleague would never use them again. In a small office, in the back streets of Amsterdam, they lay dead. The well-trained terrorist’s suppressed weapons being used with precision, leaving neat, single bullet holes through their target’s chests. As usual, there was no remorse. “Our vehicles will not be detected until it is too late,” said Gerhard.

“Good.” Jochen looked down at his watch and started the countdown. “Remember our new instructions. We no longer take chances trying to capture the deserter.” Jochen’s smile said everything. It was cold and calculating. Death was literally minutes away. “We kill them all!”

“Understood!”

“…a sort of birthmark, on his lower neck, just to the right. He hides most of it under the collar of his shirts.” Michael De Groot’s face was contorted with fear.

“GO ON,” yelled Piper, “QUICKLY!”

“He’s quite tall, thin, with brownish hair. He doesn’t give a name, he just gives details of meetings. We all attend, the strongest are chosen. The ones who hate the immigrants the most! Oh shit, I don’t know, please get me out!”

“ANYTHING ELSE? COME ON FOR GOD’S SAKE, WE NEED THIS INFORMATION!” Too late! Piper’s vision was blurring, becoming red. “SHIT, WE’VE GOT COMPANY!” Now it wasn’t Piper’s normal voice speaking, it was a low monotoned growl, his voice deepening, ready to unleash the predator inside him. “GRAB YOUR WEAPONS! WE NEED COVER! VAN BURREN, ROEMER, USE THE TABLES. HALSE, SCHUYLER, GET UP THE STAIRS, QUICKLY! THEY’LL COME IN THROUGH THE ROOF!” They moved in unison, weapons at the ready. All had M16 assault rifles, noise reducing earphones and their handguns. “RED HAZE TO CONTROL, DO YOU COPY?”

“Go ahead Red Haze,” Colonel Mann’s voice was defiant. The plan had worked.

“NO FURTHER COMMUNICATION POSSIBLE! MAILED FIST, I REPEAT, MAILED FIST!”

The two transit vans pulled up just behind the Safehouse. With his mobile phone still switched on Gerhard spoke to Jochen, “we move, NOW!”

“Affirmative.” Jochen finished the call and looked up the staircase. Gripping his silenced P226 tightly in both hands, he slowly, carefully began walking up to the third floor.

“PILLOW TALK ONE, MAILED FIST, I REPEAT, MAILED FIST!”

“Copy Control, out!” The plan had worked perfectly! The enemy had been drawn in! Quickly moving to the side of his apartment door, Erik Karlson pulled the butt of his Heckler and Koch MP5 Sub Machine Gun tightly into his shoulder and prepared to fire. You’re not having me you bastards, he thought. 

“THEY’LL USE C4 TO BLOW THE DOORS AND WILL BE WEARING BODY ARMOUR. AIM FOR FLESH AND MAKE EVERY SHOT COUNT,” yelled Piper, “GET YOUR EARPHONES ON AND PREPARE FOR CONCUSSIVE EFFECT!” The occupants in the Safehouse were ready for combat.

“OH GOD, PLEASE HELP ME!” It was De Groot, now a quivering wreck of a man, rolled up behind one of the tables.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP,” shouted Nikki Van Burren.

Piper released the safety catch and brought the ironsight of his M16 into view. Leaning out from an upturned table, his heartbeat racing, he focused his blood red field of vision on the inner front door. “If you want us, you bastards,” he whispered, “then come and fucking get us!”

“Red Haze, Red Haze, do you copy?”

“CONTROL, CLEAR THE AIR, CLOSE OUT COMMUNICATION.”

“We’ve got back up on the way! They’ll be with you in five minutes!”

“WE DON’T FUCKING HAVE FIVE MINUTES!”

Dressed in dark grey camouflaged outfits, with black balaclavas covering their heads and Kevlar body armour protecting their chest areas, the grenadiers moved quickly, splitting into two groups.

“Hey…?”

An idiot passer by thought Gerhard. “FUCK OFF!” he yelled, slamming the butt of his machine pistol into the man’s nose. There was a sickening crunch as a girl screamed. “BREACH THE DOOR!” A grenadier placed the C4, the explosives primed to blow the front of the house away. “KEEP CLEAR!” The grenadiers leant beside the wall. There was a huge explosion, a massive shockwave erupting across the street, hurling innocent people through the air. “KILL THEM ALL!” shouted Gerhard.

The assault was instantaneous.

Jochen kicked open the door on the third floor apartment, only to be met by a hail of gunfire smashing through the wood, a high pitched scream echoing across the hallway.

“Got you, you bastard!” Breathing heavily, with sweat drenching his body, Erik Karlson moved slowly, carefully around the door, his MP5 close to his line of sight. Only one of them, he thought, be careful…just be careful. He heard groaning. Yes, only the one, he’d hit him! Karlson quickly stepped out into the hallway.

“HERE THEY COME! PREPARE TO ENGAGE!” As Piper shouted his order, all hell broke loose, the explosion ripping away the very fabric from the front of the Safehouse as its occupants took cover. Splinters and debris crashed everywhere, the dust making vision difficult, except for one man.  Tracer fire scythed across the hallway. It was a muffled sound as Piper and his team wore their earphones, deadening the sounds of combat, but the concussive effect from the blast itself was intense, and deafening!

Communication was impossible. The gunshots upstairs could not be heard, nor the screams of the two Dutch police officers. Although they had managed to kill one grenadier, they were not prepared for such a brutal attack, both men losing their lives within seconds, the speed and efficiency of the roof assault taking them by complete surprise.

As the shattered front entrance of the Safehouse gave way to an intense attack, tracer hit a grenadier square in the chest area of his body armour. He hurtled back into another of his colleagues, while two others kept firing. “GIVE ‘EM HELL!” shouted Van Burren. She fired again, this time the rounds from her M16 smashing into the grenadier’s skull, splitting his brain in two. More firepower! More screams! More blood! The assault felt like it was all around them.

Martin Roemer yelled as he fired off several rounds, not from fear, but from anger. He found his target! Another grenadier fell to the floor, screaming in agony, his kneecaps blown away.

With his blood red vision, Piper scanned around the hallway and ran to the stairs. In the cacophony of sound now assaulting everyone’s ears, Nikki Van Burren did not hear his heartfelt words of warning. “NIKKI, WATCH OUT!”

Too late! The enemy came down the stairs, hurriedly!

Piper fired, the M16 spitting flame and death. The first grenadier was hit, but only wounded. The second, found his target. Nikki Van Burren’s chest exploded, her body blown apart and thrown against the wall. It was an assault shotgun! She didn’t stand a chance.

“BASTARDS!” yelled Piper.

Erik Karlson was taken by surprise as Jochen leapt up. “FUCKING IDIOT!” the German shouted. Kicking the MP5 out of Karlson’s hands, he smashed his heavy boot straight into his opponent’s groin. Karlson went down groaning and began to vomit. With a look of sheer hatred etched in his eyes, Jochen pulled out a large combat knife. Grabbing Karlson by his hair, he hauled him back up, quickly plunging the knife into his enemy’s stomach. As Karlson went down again, a vicious kick smashed into his head. Again, again and again! It was an orgy of blood and violence, with Jochen Kreutz relishing every second of it. “FUCKING BASTARD!” Again Jochen kicked out, savagely, mercilessly, leaving Eric Karlson brain dead within seconds.

Now, thought Jochen, I have to get away!

KILL! KILL! KILL! The Wolf craved revenge. Ash Piper leapt like no human being ever could, up the stairway, his powerful, adrenalised form lunging into the two grenadiers, smashing the butt of his M16 into the wounded terrorist’s solar plexus. Grabbing him by the throat, Piper heaved him back up to his line of sight and head butted, straight across the bridge of the man’s nose, smashing him into the second grenadier. There was a sickening crunch, the man’s nasal bone instantly piercing his brain tissue. Behind his black balaclava, the second grenadier’s eyes widened with terror. He heard the roar from Piper’s throat. Again, the butt of the M16 made its mark, straight across the man’s jaw. “YOUR TURN, SHIT HEAD!” Savagely, Piper’s knee came up into the man’s groin. He screamed, a high-pitched wail telling of immense agony. Piper’s right fist smashed into his opponent’s face, again, again and again, transforming skin and muscle into bloody jelly. Grabbing the grenadier in a fit of rage, Piper hurled him over the stair banister. He fell, screaming onto the hallway floor. He was dead on impact, his neck thoroughly broken. With his chest heaving, his body shaking in guttural rage, Piper leapt over the stairway. An acrid smell of cordite, sweat and blood now assaulted his senses. In total, seven grenadiers had been fully accounted for. He turned to Martin Roemer who had fought well, his well-placed rounds, finding their targets. But Roemer was clutching his left shoulder, his face racked in pain. A piece of glass had opened up a deep wound, probably from the initial explosion. “Are you alright for the moment?” asked Piper.

“Yes,” replied Roemer, breathing heavily, “I’m okay.”

Quickly surveying the carnage around him, Piper heard police car sirens and most importantly, the sound of helicopters. Walking briskly over to one of the dead terrorists, he leaned down and ripped the bloodied balaclava off his head. “So much for Muslim Fundamentalists! This bastard is as European as I am.” Turning around, Piper heard the whimpering voice of Michael De Groot. He had wet himself with fear.

“Seven…only seven,” whispered Piper, “an assault fire-team usually has eight members.” He looked again at Roemer who had moved to the plaster dust covered dining room sofa, or what was left of it. “Help has arrived,” Piper said quietly, his focus of attention quickly moving to the whimpering man in the corner. “De Groot, you’re coming with me, get up!” He did so.

Across the street, Monika Karlson started to tremble as she quickly walked through the mass of people gathering around the shattered building. As she watched two Dutch AH-6 helicopters off loading their Rapid Response teams, a sense of nausea overcame her. Nervously, Monika’s gaze moved from the confusion all around, to the house across the canal and up to the bedroom window where her husband was located. But something was wrong! She had tried desperately to talk to Erik on his mobile phone, but there was no reply. Oh Erik, she thought, tears welling up in her tired eyes, please be alive…please! Monika, her face now drenched in tears, looked slowly down at her mobile phone and tried once again to contact her husband.

“Red Haze, do you copy, over?” It was Colonel Mann’s voice in Piper’s ear.

“Go ahead Control.”

“Thank God you’re alright. We’ve been monitoring the attack by satellite. Your assailants were definitely professionals.”

“Agreed!” Piper moved down the smashed hallway as a medical team rushed in. He pointed to Roemer, “he needs help.” The team moved quickly and began administering first aid as Michael De Groot stood by Piper, shaking uncontrollably.

“We have three fatalities from our team Control! What about Pillow Talk One and Two, any news?”

“Bad news I’m afraid,” The Colonel’s tone was troubled, “we are presuming we have lost Pillow Talk One. We cannot make contact.”

“Shit…Control,” Piper spoke urgently, “I need to move our guest to a more secure location.”

“Affirmative. The Dutch Rapid Response Team are now on standby with you. I don’t think there will be any more trouble.”

“The information I gained before the attack, I presume it is all recorded?”

“Correct Red Haze.”

Piper grabbed De Groot by his lapel, “right, let’s get you into safer hands.”

“Yes, oh yes, thank you.”

Piper didn’t reply, he just cast another gaze around the shattered Safehouse and nodded to Roemer. Quickly, he and De Groot moved into the smashed, broken doorway of what had once been a beautiful house.