RED HAZE: A Werewolf Story for the 21st Century (3 page)

Meanwhile, the same US satellite that had been assisting with operational transmissions had caught the predicament of the four Special Air Service combatants through its high-powered camera lenses. Locking onto their co ordinates, it quickly began relaying data and images back to Pathway Command.

But for Piper, Peters, Dunstan and Collins…time was running out!

“CHRIS, BEHIND YOU!” Hearing Piper’s cry of warning Trooper Collins turned around and let loose a volley of lead into three Iraqis.

“THEY’LL BE ON US IN SECONDS,” shouted Dunstan.

The hell of the firefight continued with tracer repeatedly flying in all directions as Piper’s bloodied hands applied further pressure to Captain Peters’ terrible wound.

“SIR, CAN YOU HEAR ME? HOLD ON SIR, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE HOLD ON!”

The Captain’s vacant, cold eyes looked up at Ash Piper, then slowly, painfully, rolled up into the back of his head. Cradling the Captain close to his chest, with heartfelt disbelief at the loss of his commanding officer, Piper looked up to the heavens and screamed into the night. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

For Trooper Ashley Piper, his time with the Parachute Regiment and the Special Air Service had sent him into situations where fear itself had become a close friend, for it was fear that had kept his instincts for survival on full alert. But now, his fear was different. Very different! For deep down inside something was calling to him. With his heart now full of anger and revenge, his mind calling for retribution, to kill and to keep killing, Ash Piper looked out across the firelit, blood soaked dunes as at least thirty Iraqis dodged in and out of the low rolling sands, their shadowy forms streamlined as they dodged their enemies relentless fire.

“HERE THEY FUCKING COME,” Chris Collins yelled as loud as he could as both he and Dunstan readied themselves for close quarter combat.

Then…something terrifying began to happen to Ash Piper. His sweating started to intensify, his eyesight becoming blurred then blood red, the sounds around him becoming incredibly painful to his ears, the spitting machine guns, molten hot tracer and the screams and shouts of men. Suddenly, without warning, a world of nightmares engulfed Piper’s mind and body.

“HEY ASH, I’M GOING TO MAKE A RUN ACROSS THAT CLEARING…”

To Ash Piper, Chris Collins’ voice was mumbled, unclear. “…I’LL CUT THEM DOWN FROM A HIGHER ANGLE! WHATEVER, I’M GOING TO HAVE TO GO FOR IT! COVER ME!” With a look of grim determination Collins dashed across the dunes, spraying automatic fire towards his antagonists as Billy Dunstan threw two frag grenades, one to the left, then to the right. Within seconds, further screams assaulted the night.

But Ash Piper was on his hands and knees, vomiting, oblivious to the chaos and mayhem around him.

“ASH, FOR GOD’S SAKE KEEP FIRING, KEEP…” Billy Dunstan, a hail of tracer slashing past his face, never finished his sentence. With his eyes wide open in disbelief, he gazed at Piper who stared directly back at him, the whites and pupils of his eyes now a lurid shade of red. “Oh, sweet Jesus…” muttered Dunstan as Piper’s desert camouflaged uniform, unable to contain his enlarging limbs and torso, began to rip open, the seams of his jacket parting, his body writhing and twisting with the agony of his transformation. With a look of intense shock running across his sweat soaked face, Piper screamed a long, mournful scream, then a terrifying roar, the likes of which Billy Dunstan had never heard before, even in his darkest nightmares.

What was once Piper’s face, now bore a long dog like snout, with canine teeth rapidly protruding at different lengths, his ears growing to large, furred points, a mass of animal hairs sprouting swiftly, protruding from his naked, powerful body.

With Piper’s horrific transformation continuing, Dunstan started to crawl backwards, terrified out of his wits, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of the dog like creature rising up on its furred, muscular hind legs, directly in front of him.

The creature was well over seven feet tall, with clawed hands and feet nearly twice their normal size, its snout curled back, baring hideous, razor sharp canine teeth, its body covered in thick, dark animal hair, its tail swishing dementedly and its pointed, triangular ears twitching back and forth, hearing sounds no human could ever hear.

For Billy Dunstan, what now stood before him, was a vision from hell! Suddenly, the beast, now growling intensely at Dunstan, threw back its head, pointed its snout to the night sky and began to howl…a long, mournful howl.

At that precise moment Trooper Billy Dunstan knew for certain he was looking at something from the world of nightmares and legends. A creature that to him, couldn’t possibly exist…or could it? 

As Dunstan cowered away from the werewolf standing in front of him, Chris Collins, his ammunition supply fully depleted, gripped his coveted Sykes Fairbairn Commando dagger, tossing the knife from hand to hand, glaring in defiance at the seven, well armed Iraqis surrounding him. “COME ON THEN, YOU FUCKIN’ TWATS,” he yelled, his body taut like a coiled spring.

With hate etched in their suntanned, sweaty faces, Collins’ adversaries had grown fully confident of exacting a terrible revenge on the SAS Trooper. With a mixture of loud shouting and laughter, the Iraqis threw down their AK47 Automatic Rifles into the sand behind them and pulled out their own combat knives. “WE KILL YOU NOW BRITISH MAN! WE CUT YOU DEEP! WE MAKE YOU BLEED!”

The tone of the lead Iraqi’s voice showed Collins they were going to enjoy carving him into pieces, as just to the side of him, on top of one of the dunes, another group of six stood silently watching the spectacle unfolding below them.

For Chris Collins…there was no escape.

The tallest Iraqi made the first move, lunging with his blade at the SAS combatant.

Collins parried the blow and sliced upwards, catching the Iraqi’s chin, making him squeal in pain. Cautiously, the others surrounded him, their knives held at waist height, pointing towards their sweating, bloodied enemy.

“KILL HIM, KILL HIM!” Up on the dune the six Iraqi soldiers cheered and shouted, their focus completely set on the spectacle below, totally oblivious to the large canid shape moving stealthily towards them from the rear.

With the insidious yells of his enemy invading his ears, Collins said a silent prayer and lunged at two of the Iraqis surrounding him. Feinting to the left, he kicked to the groin of the larger of the two as the man squealed in pain, dropping to his knees. Pressing his advantage, Collins slashed, kicked and punched as blood and sweat flew in all directions.

“KILL HIM, KILL THE PIG!” The chanting became louder and louder as Collins winced in agony from a sudden slash across his back. Ignoring the pain, he rolled to the right and kicked out, smashing his boot into his antagonist’s kneecap as across the dune he heard Billy Dunstan battling on.

And at precisely the same time, with a terrifying, hideous roar, the beast moved in for the kill.

The six Iraqis on the dune didn’t know what hit them. As the unholy form of the wolf rose to its full height, one of the Iraqis, suddenly sensing a new threat, quickly turned around. The sight he beheld momentarily unhinged his mind. He began to scream, the same scream abruptly ending in a gargling sound, his larynx being slashed open, the beast’s lethal claws lunging again, ripping his head from his shoulders. In an instant the man’s blood spurted out across the sand, spattering his comrades and soaking the beast’s fur. 

With fear in their eyes the terrified Iraqis grabbed their weapons as the wolf, standing solidly on its hind legs, outstretched its thick furred, blood soaked canid arms and claws, ready to strike again.

Down below the dune, away from the hellish, seething maelstrom of carnivorous brutality, Trooper Collins lay panting in the sand, bleeding heavily from several deep cuts across his chest and arms. Swiftly, calling on every ounce of his energy, he rolled sideways, his body soaked in sweat and blood, his knife slashing cloth and tendon as yet again, he desperately tried to defend himself.  Then, quite suddenly, he noticed the apparent lack of concentration on the Iraqi’s faces. Gone was the look of hatred, the look of bloody revenge. Now, a look of stark bewilderment lay set in his opponent’s eyes as they gazed up at the dune towards their comrades.

Or what was left of them.

Savagely the beast struck again, its clawed hand defleshing the face of one Iraqi as it held another by the throat.

“Jesus, fucking Christ,” breathed Collins.

The six Iraqis on the dune had been ripped to pieces by the towering, flesh hungry, blood lusting wolf in less than a minute. Now, growling viciously, it turned and looked down at Collins and his antagonists. Dropping to all fours, the wolf ran swiftly as the terrible screams of mutilated men assaulted Collins’ ears. In an orgy of wild, untamed bloodshed, one Iraqi was swiftly disembowelled, the head of another, ripped off as throats were slashed open. Running for his life, the last Iraqi gripped his AK47 and fired, the bullets hitting the beast in the chest and arms. “DEMON, DEMON,” he yelled hysterically. The overly large, gore ridden wolf roared in pain and stopped in its tracks, its eyes glowing blood red with rage and hatred, its bloodied, furred chest rising and falling visibly with each snarling breath. With savage intensity, the beast roared again, its blackened lips curling back, its semi white, blood soaked canine incisors clearly in view, with human flesh hanging loosely between them. With a low, guttural growl, the beast rose on its two hind legs and moved slowly towards the soldier, its huge, hair-laden, muscular form towering over him. Like a striking cobra, it reached out and grabbed the terrified Iraqi by the throat, lifting him off his feet in a neck-breaking grip.  The soldier was already in shock as the creature bit into his face, crushing his skull, his body twitching in its final agonised death throes.

Bloody and broken, the Iraqi was thrown to the ground as Chris Collins started to shake uncontrollably, emptying the contents of his bowels into his trousers, for never in all his life had he seen such chaotic savagery.

Such hellish, brutal bloodshed!

Slowly, with its ears twitching from left to right, its tail vertical, dominant, the wolf turned towards Collins. Then, as if by instinct, it started to sniff the air. A deep growling emanated from the wolf’s throat as its blood red eyes scanned the broken, mutilated, twisted forms lying in the sand, its long, red tongue licking its lips. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?” yelled Collins, desperately staring at the beast, now just metres away from him. But the wolf just growled, once again dropping to all fours. Cautiously, panting heavily, the bloodied beast moved forward, its surreal, canid body drawing closer to Collins as he crawled away, trying to keep his distance, his face now frozen in heart stopping terror.

Then, as if sensing something was wrong, the wolf stopped and leaned its head to one side, this time towards the sounds of the Iraqi night. As Chris Collins continued to stare at the nightmarish vision from hell, now so close to him he could hear its deep, guttural breathing, the beast suddenly growled loudly, distinctively, then leapt across the sand, into the darkness and out of sight.

Feeling utterly exhausted, Trooper Billy Dunstan staggered weakly over to his shaking friend and colleague. Battered and bleeding, he slowly dropped to his knees.

“Chris…Chris, hey mate, are you okay?” Dunstan whispered, fearing for his friend’s sanity.

At first Collins didn’t reply. He just stared blankly into the blackness of the Iraqi desert and the dimming flames around them.

Not knowing what else to do, Dunstan shook him, “Chris, bloody hell, snap out of it mate, c’mon, hey…Chris….”

“Billy,” Collins whispered, his voice shaky, feeble, “you…you saw it too?” His grip on Dunstan tightened, desperation set firmly in his eyes, “please Billy…tell me you fucking well saw it!”

“Oh god…yes, I saw it Chris, and what it did.” The two soldiers glanced across the darkened sandy terrain as the distant thumping sound of oncoming helicopters scythed through the night air. “Here comes the cavalry,” said Dunstan with a smile of relief on his bloodied, sweat sodden face. With the din of rotor blades growing ever louder, the two SAS Troopers staggered to their feet, surveying the carnage around them as two US Marine Corps, Huey Cobra Helicopter Gunships came into view.

“Where’s Ash?” asked Collins, his voice still weak, his body still trembling.

“That was Ash,” replied Dunstan.

Meanwhile, the confused, chaos ridden mind of Trooper Ash Piper screamed out for help, his powerful wolf form running like the wind across the Iraqi desert as he began hunting for further prey, and searching…for his own kind.

2

NIGHTMARES AND KISSES

The amber eyes were watching him!

The young boy, running, laughing, with not a care in the world.

The amber eyes followed his every movement!

And all because of the butterfly! So beautiful and fragile! Its colours, so radiant! Red, black, white and blue, fluttering to each flower, so gently, with the boy looking on…fascinated.

Should he…yes, but Mum would not approve, oh…just this once! He didn’t want to hurt the butterfly, just to see it up close, to catch it and show its beauty to Mum and Dad. The boy laughed and jumped, his arms outstretched, trying to catch the fluttering insect as it flew around him, so easily, so…gracefully. He giggled again. How he loved this forest, just being here, with his mother and father, in Germany’s Black Forest.

Last year, when he was nine, they had brought him to this magical woodland, on holiday for the first time. He remembered being so happy, for three long, wonderful weeks. Yes…so very, very happy.

Smiling, his eyes wide with excitement, and a little mischief, he gazed at the butterfly again. This time it fluttered towards him. Yes, he could just see it as the sunlight filtered lazily through the trees, illuminating little white specks of light dancing a dazzling aerial display. The little midges, tiny winged insects, darting all around.

Still giggling, the ten-year-old boy clapped his hands together in excitement. It was all part of the magic, the magic of the forest. The butterfly and the midges, all in the lovely evening sunlight.

It was all so wonderful…just like a fairyland.

And the amber eyes kept watching him!

His mother called from way off in the distance. “Ashley, Ashley, where are you? Your dinner is nearly ready.”

“I WON’T BE LONG MUM, I PROMISE!” His mother did sound far away, but not too far! Perhaps it was time to head back? The boy sighed. He wanted to explore the forest just a little more, besides, there was no school, no homework and most of all, no bullies to worry about.

It was holiday time. A time for fun!

And still the amber eyes kept watching him!

“ASHLEY!” It was Dad, he was shouting, “COME ON BACK TO THE CARAVAN YOU LITTLE RASCAL, YOUR DINNER IS READY. YOUR MOTHER WON’T BE HAPPY IF IT GOES COLD!”

“OKAY DAD!” Oh, just another few minutes thought the boy, idly shuffling off the dusty track into the forest. Mum and Dad would like to see the butterfly, he was sure they would, it would be a nice surprise for them. He looked around again. There! Just to the right of him, amidst the purple flowers. The butterfly had flown over to them. If he could just gently cup his hands around it! Slowly, ever so carefully, he crept up to the flowers, leaned down and smiled. There it was, its wings, slowly opening and closing in the sunlight. Calmly, the boy began to lower his hands, preparing to cup them around the beautiful insect…then it flew off and away from him, softly fluttering through the rays of sunlight. Happily laughing, he leapt up then tripped over, the graceful winged insect quietly fluttering away. Ah well, he had tried!

And the amber eyes kept watching him, the long red tongue licking its lips, the triangular shaped ears flicking towards the boy’s movement, the ears flattening as four powerful, furred legs rose from the forest floor.

“ASHLEY, WHERE ARE YOU SON? I DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO CALL YOU AGAIN!”

“I’M COMING DAD!” Hastily the boy skipped and hopped over the ferns, twigs and flowers, back onto the dusty track.

Then… he heard it!

A snapping twig! He looked around quizzically, his heart beginning to race.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he noticed the shape. A dog, a large dog, running towards him, through the undergrowth, leaping over the fallen branches.

“DAD, DAAAAAAD!” He yelled, his voice becoming a scream, “DAAAAAAAD, HELP ME!” The boy ran like never before as the large dog raced towards him, panting, snarling. He was terrified, terrified out of his wits! “DAD! MUM! PLEASE, HELP MEEEEE!” The dog, now just metres away, growled in anger, its teeth bared, ready to seize its prey. “DAD! PLEASE, HEEEEEEEEEELP!”

“ASHLEY? ASHLEY! OH GOD ALMIGHTY! DON’T LOOK BACK SON! KEEP RUNNING, FOR GOD’S SAKE KEEP RUNNING!”

There, in front of him, his father, gaining ground, sprinting towards him. The boy’s screams became a high-pitched wail of despair, his tears cascading down his face.

“DAAAAAAAAAAAAAD….”

“ASHLEY, OH DEAR GOD, NOOOOOOO.” The growling dog leapt at Cornelius Piper’s only son.

The boy screamed again! A long, lonely, terrifying scream, the memory of which would haunt his father for years to come. “DAD! PLEEEEEEASE…!” The ten year old, dark blonde haired boy went down, his arms outstretched, as if begging his father to be at his side.

 “NOOOOOOOOOOO!” Cornelius Piper’s yelling echoed through the forest, “MARGUERITE, GET HELP, QUICKLY, GET HELP!”

Panic stricken, the boy lashed out at the dog. But the pain was unbearable, the canid’s powerful jaws smashing into his arm, its incisors cutting deep, ripping and tearing into human flesh. Squealing in agony, the boy thumped the dog’s snout as it snapped at his hands. He hit out again, but now felt weak, faint, with only his father’s shouting bringing him back to his senses.

“GET OFF MY SON, DAMN IT!” Cornelius Piper’s boot flashed past his son’s face, hitting the dog in the head as it yelped in pain. It turned, snarling, ready to attack again. “GET OFF HIM! GET OFF MY SON!”

The boy and the man fought back, their energies draining such was the savage intensity of the canid assault, his father’s boot, kicking again at the dog’s teeth as it snarled and bit.

More pain, more yelling, the boy’s blood soaking his shirt. “DAD, DAAAAAD!”

As the savagery of the attack intensified, Cornelius Piper threw himself on top of his son, but the dog’s teeth were lethal, the boy’s arm being torn from its socket, dripping blood everywhere. The boy felt sick, his father screaming, yelling, his fists flailing outward, pummelling, hitting the dog’s snout and teeth, his knuckles bleeding.

Suddenly, just for an instant, the boy saw something rise up in front of him, the long thin object then hurtling down with a sickening thudding sound.

The dog wailed in pain.

The thin shape hit out again and again! “NO, NO, NO!” The man’s voice gained in volume, his yelling angry, demented, the thin shape battering the dog’s head and sides. A golf club? Yes, it looked like a golf club! There, another man, next to his father, but the boy couldn’t hear them, his wretched, torn body now shaking uncontrollably. Panic stricken, he saw his arm and blood, his blood, everywhere, and his flesh, stripped to the bone. His bone! The boy wanted to scream again, to hold his hand out to his father. But he couldn’t move, or think. He could only shake, and twitch!

“He’s in shock,” said the man, “we need an ambulance and damned quickly.”

“OH MY GOD! DEAR GOD! ASHLEY!”

There, his mother, leaning over him, her lovely blonde hair cascading down towards his face. Rain, it was raining…no, his mother was crying, his face…wet, wet with tears.

“An ambulance is on its way.”

Another man, standing over him! Now there were three men. Instinctively, the boy recognised his father, then he screamed, a leather belt pulling tight over his arm.

“I just hope and pray this will stem the blood flow. Jesus Christ, I’ve never seen anything like it. The damned thing must have been rabid!” It was the first man again, the man with the golf club, the look on his face full of anguish, concern.

The boy lay in the dust, dirt and blood. He tried to smile at his mother and father, but he couldn’t, he just continued to stare at them, their figures blurred, their voices seemingly echoing in the distance.

The dog lay next to him. It was still, silent, its tongue hanging out of its battered, bloody mouth. There was blackness, a long dark tunnel, slowly, effortlessly creeping towards him. But there was light at the end of the tunnel, and a figure…in white. An angel? Yes, Mum and Dad said angels did exist. Of course! He was travelling to heaven. Yes, there she was, an angel in white…no, it’s mum again, she’s saying something.

“Oh God! Look what it’s done! His arm, his arm’s ripped off!” Gently, with floods of tears rolling down her cheeks, Marguerite Piper held her only son close to her, her tears continuously falling onto young Ashley’s face. She kissed him as only a loving mother could. “Oh dear God. Ashley, please don’t die. Please Lord don’t take him from us, please, please…”

The boy’s open, vacant gaze moved once again to the dog, its fur hanging loosely from its body, its amber eyes wide open, staring at him. As Ashley Piper started to drift away, back to the angel who was waiting for him, he remembered his mother’s arms around him, her tears falling on his face, and her gentle, loving kisses. With the long black tunnel slowly enveloping his savaged body, he began to cry, then to scream, a long pitiful scream that echoed through the forest.

The dog still lay across from him, silent, its eyes, so powerful. They were wolf’s eyes, the boy thought, yes, a wolf. Definitely a wolf. He screamed again. He wanted to leave this frightening forest, he wanted to leave the wolf far behind.

“Ashley…Ashley,” it was his mother’s voice, calm, comforting. But it couldn’t be…could it? Then, as if out of nowhere, the angel took hold of him.

“Good, you’re awake! I was getting a little worried.  Now, just relax, I’ll inform Doctor Ramirez.” The angel was a nurse with an American accent.

Piper, his eyes heavily bloodshot, slowly looked around the white and cream coloured room. He smelt antiseptic and fruit, there, next to him, apples, grapes and bananas.

“Of course doctor, yes…he seems fine, a little shaken obviously…yes, certainly… I will see you in a few minutes.” The nurse replaced the handset of the internal telephone and looked across at Piper. She smiled again, as if to reassure the handsome and somewhat rugged looking soldier that everything would be fine.

Piper tried to sit up but couldn’t, his hands and legs being immobilised. “What’s going on?” he asked, a tone of bewilderment set firmly in his voice, “why the restraints?”

“For your own good I’m afraid. You wouldn’t believe how much you’ve thrashed about in that bed over the last three days. I think you’ve been hallucinating, or having nightmares.”

Three days thought Piper, three whole days. Shit! He closed his eyes. He was sweating.

With another pleasant smile the nurse walked over and wiped his brow with a wet, cold sponge as Piper’s nostrils began to twitch. He could smell a trace of perfume, and the smell of underlying sweat on her body. His nostrils twitched again, his senses seemingly so alive. “Where am I?” he asked.

“This is the Al Hada Hospital. We are a part of the United States Military Training Mission attached to Taif Air Base.” Quickly, the nurse looked around as the bedroom door swung open.

“Taif Air Base…Saudi Arabia?”

“That is correct, Ashley!” The white coated, balding, slightly overweight man walked over to his bedside. “How are you feeling? I am Doctor Anthony Ramirez of the United States Air Force. I’m attached to this hospital, the same as Nurse Clarel here.” The doctor spoke quietly to Nurse Clarel as Piper looked them both up and down. “Right,” he continued, his voice pleasant but authoritative, “let’s get rid of these restraints, shall we?”

Within minutes Piper lay free. He stretched his limbs luxuriously, the sensation making him feel pleasantly relaxed. “Doctor, the invasion, what’s happening?”

“As far as I am aware, all is going according to plan. The coalition forces are making good progress.”

“My two mates, Privates Collins and Dunstan! They were with me behind enemy lines, what’s happened to them?” As his thoughts travelled back to the firefight in Iraq, Piper suddenly felt greatly concerned for the safety of his two SAS colleagues.

Doctor Ramirez slowly shook his head, “Nurse Clarel and I know nothing about your friends, I’m sorry. All I know is you were brought here specially, to be monitored and cared for. We have both been ordered not to ask questions, just to give you the best medical care available. Simple as that! Now, I have a phone call to make.” Piper cursed under his breath as Doctor Ramirez walked over to the door and looked at his watch. “All being well, you should have a visitor within the next four to five hours, so get some more sleep, or would you like some breakfast?”

“Yes, thanks, I am hungry.”

“Leave it to me,” said nurse Clarel.

“After breakfast,” the Doctor continued, “I want to examine you fully, then you can relax and await your visitor.”

Swiftly, Doctor Ramirez left the room, with Nurse Clarel offering Piper a fresh glass of ice-cold water, which he enthusiastically gulped down. “Thanks.” Piper smiled at her as he lay back on the soft white pillows. So many questions to ask, he thought…so many damned questions. He closed his eyes.