SNAFU: Wolves at the Door

“Indeed.” Her lips curled. “So. We put you on a boat back to England. Unless, of course, you can be... useful. Or, perhaps...” Her head tilted to one side. “Oh, yes, I could make use of you.”

His hackles rose. “I’m not a very good spy.” A pause. “I’d be more useful back with my squadron, trust me.”

“I don’t know about that, Airman.”

“He’s not yours!” the farmer snapped. “He’s not yours any more than Francine is.”

“Maybe we can just make you even more useful to your squadron. Come with me.”

He tried not to follow, but that gold came into her eyes again. It drew him, and he found himself walking out into the dawn. “What do you want with me?”

“I want you to help us kill Germans. That’s all.”

“I can do it better from my fighter.” He kept his eyes on her, and kept them up. Her arse was worth looking at, but he knew if he started thinking like that he’d lose what remained of his self-control. Or he could run. He wanted to run.

“But I can make it so you can do it better yet. Besides, I don’t plan on giving you the choice. Come.”

She led him into the woods, and he was pretty sure she was walking to show off her mesmerising attributes, just for extra persuasion. Do it better yet? She was sure as heck no flight trainer.

Can’t have Francine.

Was this Francine’s mother? This beautiful, terrible being who... Yes, he knew what she reminded him of – the Regents Park wolf pack, before the war. They’d taken them somewhere out of the city now, safe from the blitz. He wasn’t sure where. It didn’t matter. But this woman. “You’re a wolf.”

She turned, smiled, fangs glinting in the dawn light. “Of course I am.”

He wanted to run. Then he didn’t. “Loup-garou.” He knew the word. The werewolf resistance? It was a ridiculous idea. “Brakes on, lady. There’s no such thing as a werewolf, and if there was, well... I don’t want to turn into a wolf every time the moon is full, even for somebody as hot as you.”

“And you don’t want to be stronger? Faster? Better reflexes? Better night vision? That’s what I offer, even in human form. And besides, I hate the Germans.”

“Let me guess. They’re experimenting on werewolves.”

Her lips twisted into something half smile, half grimace. “That and keeping us as pets.”

There was a rumour Hitler was obsessed with wolves. “Only German werewolves, no doubt.”

She laughed, a sharp, harsh sound with little humour in it, then turned to face him. “You will do what it takes to hurt them. So will I. I will show you... and then you can decide.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then we’ll send you back to your squadron.” This time it was a smile, almost a nice one. “As much as I want to keep you, we won’t remove an asset.”

“Then send me back now. I don’t need to see what you want to show me, I don’t need your recruiting...”

Gunfire. Ahead of him.

The woman swore in what he thought was actually Italian. Then...  she became a wolf. It was a melting, a blurring. It wasn’t something he enjoyed watching or something he ever wanted to see again. But she became a wolf. And set off towards the sound of the shots, not waiting for him, not looking to see if he followed.

He thrust a hand into his pocket, where it rested on his gun then set off after her, or more accurately after the sound. No way he could keep up with a wolf, were or otherwise, or even a dog that size. He knew that, but still he ran. Her alarm... was the rest of her pack in trouble?

The rest of her pack… He sped up, pulling the gun from his pocket but not clicking the safety off just yet. Just six shots in the Enfield; he had to make them count. The revolver had never been issued for pitched battles.

Which this was, by the sounds, and he slowed his approach, ducking behind a tree. He saw the fight now... the darting forms of the wolves and a half-dozen German soldiers. Make that five – one man went down, his throat ripped out. Jester took aim and fired, feeling the kick of the gun in his hand. He had never fired a sidearm in anger, only on the range. It was an odd feeling as his target staggered, a kill somehow more intimate than anything in the air. If, that was, he had actually killed him. He wasn’t sure, but at least the man was out of the fight.

He readied another shot. No matter what the woman might have intended for him, he definitely hated the Germans more. They weren’t trying to kill the wolves... no, definitely not, two of them had now thrown a net over one member of the pack, who snarled and then subsided, as if some enchantment on it had stilled it.

Jester fired again. Missed. The bullet slammed into an innocent tree, sending chips of wood flying. One of the Germans turned, sending a round flying past Jester who fired again. Nailed him this time.