SNAFU: Wolves at the Door

He ducked back inside the command tent, making sure to breathe through his mouth so the stench of death within wouldn’t overwhelm his senses. He moved to the back of the tent, where the prisoners had knelt when he had first entered the tent. There, he found the silver shackles and the knife – also fashioned from silver – the enemy soldier guarding the prisoners had been wielding. Wolf slung the shackles around his neck then grabbed the silver-bladed knife.

A blood curdling scream pierced the night. It was soon cut short before it could give full voice to the depth of its pain. A howl. The pilot was dead. With the knife in one hand and the M16 cradled in his other arm, Wolf exited the tent.

The creature loped toward him, red-stained tongue dangling from its mouth. If not for its intimidating size, menacing fangs and claws, and the death and destruction the marine had witnessed this morning, Wolf might have thought it wanted to play. He took aim and unloaded into the advancing beast. As soon as he was out of bullets, he tossed the rifle aside and pulled the shackles free where he began whirling them through the air like a lasso. In his other hand he gripped the silver knife, blade outward. “Bring it, you bastard,” he said through clenched teeth.

The great beast halted before Wolf and began pacing back and forth on all fours. It growled at the marine, then raised its snout to the sky and sent forth one long howl. The two locked eyes; neither the trained military man, nor the preternatural creature willing to show a sign of weakness. It gave a ferocious growl and leapt.

Wolf slashed at the beast with the knife and was rewarded with a yelp of pain as he ducked a swipe of its claws. The two faced-off again. The beast paced before him, blood oozing from a gash that ran from its left shoulder down across its pectoral muscles. The beast growled, deep and guttural.

The silver shackle whistled through the air at Wolf’s side. “Rethinking your strategy, now, aren’t you, you furry fuck?”

The beast feigned a leap then slashed at Wolf with one clawed paw. Wolf anticipated the strike, sidestepping as he looped the shackle’s chain around the beast’s arm. Wolf yanked on the ends of the shackles, ensnaring the creature. It howled in pain as its flesh began to smoke beneath the silver. The creature swiped wildly with its free paw, but Wolf dodged the careless strikes easily.

In a desperate move, the creature pulled its trapped arm inward. The silver chain bit through the flesh, severing it midway between elbow and wrist. The beast howled in agony as Wolf took a step back. This time, the force of the creature’s soul-shattering wail nearly knocked Wolf off his feet. His breathing was labored. “That was for Swerve, you piece of shit.”

When the beast dived at him again, Wolf timed his own jump perfectly, flying over the creature and latching onto its back. He drove the blade into its eye, holding tight to its neck as it bucked and swayed. Grasping the blade and using it as a pinion, Wolf swung the silver shackle around the creature’s neck like a metal collar, before releasing his hold on the knife handle and grasping the other end of silver links.

Like a garrotte, he applied pressure. The beast bucked and writhed, the stink of burning fur fouling the air, but Wolf held on, desperately sawing the chain through the flesh.

Wolf yanked the chain toward him, then threw his head back and roared all of his rage and loss and pain into the sky, finally understanding why the creature howled at the heavens. But he felt no sympathy for the freak of Nature. With each sawing motion, Wolf called out the name of each squad member felled by the beast. With one final roar, he wrenched the chain back, beheading the creature. The lifeless body thumped to the ground, Wolf riding it down. He pushed to his feet then spat on the corpse.

He bent, yanked the knife from the dead thing’s eye then went about the maudlin task of retrieving dog tags from the dead. Once done, he moved the bodies of Swerve and the pilot into the command tent and stepped outside, holding a fragmentation grenade at the ready. “You were good soldiers,” he said, pulling the pin. “I hope this Viking funeral does you enough honor.” He lobbed the grenade into the tent and hustled away.

The explosion ripped the tent asunder. Flames leapt high into the air, consuming everything within. Wolf bowed his head, then turned and began to trudge his way to the extraction point.

* * *

“Holy shit,” Neidermeyer said. “You’re fucking with me, right? Having fun with the new guy?”

Wolfman contemplated his knife. “Adapt and overcome in any situation, soldier.”

“Right, I paid attention at Basic,” said Neidermeyer. “But seriously… a werewolf?”

Wolfman shrugged. “You asked.”