The Art of War: Epilogue – Funeral Rites [COMPLETE]

[Thallium]

I. AM. ALIVE!

Well what a crazy month this has been. Mid-year assessments ranged from being “OK” to “absolutely goddamn awful” (why oh why did I think taking physics AS would be a good idea…?) and it’s because of the revision I’ve had to do for them that means I haven’t been able to update here in aaagggeeesss.

Anyway, now that the madness is temporarily over I should be able to start updating semi regularly again. However, due to the complete lack of time I’ve had over the past month, this first chapter will be a little shorter than normal. Don’t despair though, there’s a big meaty one coming up over the next few weeks.

I’d just like to finish off this warbling introduction by thanking you guys (do I still have fans? Did I have any to start with?) for waiting this long time. Will be seeing you guys with more updates “soon” ™



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Chapter 7 – Hallucinations


Du’hadrin Regimental Garrison/HQ – Credenhill – Hereford – 2004


There was a sharp knock at the door.
“Come in.”
The door swung open and Junior Administrative Officer Nicholas Moore stepped in, a large file bound with string under one arm.
“Latest candidate report and recommendation for your approval sir,” he said, placing the file on the desk.
Staff Captain Argo untied the string and laid the file open on the polished surface, “I don’t have time to peruse all the details Moore, give me a summary.”
Moore pulled a sheet of paper out from the stack
“Well sir, the usual exemplary leadership qualities as to be expected of a captain…”
Argo yawned, “Uninteresting Moore, give me something better than just “the usual” or I may fall asleep.”

Moore turned over the page, “Well sir, his fitness levels were quite literally off the charts, it says here that the instructor monitoring him got bored before he even so much as broke a sweat.”
Argo suddenly looked interested, “…Go on.”
Moore scanned further down the page, “20/10 vision, crack shot, trained paramedic, “inspiring” personality… ah, here’s a good one:
Recommended for SAS selection but turned it down in favour of trying out for us.”
Argo snorted, “Damn right to.”
“There is just one slight…problem sir…”
A quizzical look spread across his commander’s face, “Yes?”
“Well according to his CO’s report, our candidate shows signs of quote: “a brutal and sadistic nature to which the ends always justify the means no matter the cost to men or resources.”

Staff Captain Argo leaned back in his chair, “I’m sorry Moore, I thought you said there was a problem?”
Moore returned the slightly dangerous smile Argo was flashing him, “It’s not so much that sir, it’s just that in addition to those comments the CO also details a report in which the candidate was almost brought to Court Marshal by a previous commanding officer for an “incident” that occurred when he was a lieutenant.”
Silence from across the desk
Moore continued, “It says that in 2003 there was evidence of the torture both physical and psychological of suspected Iraqi insurgents with ties to Saddam in order to obtain information, and that this was carried out by the candidate’s platoon under his orders sir. The CO goes onto say that the case was put forward to the military police but they concluded that there was not enough evidence to bring it to a tribunal because no witnesses from either the Iraqis or from the candidate’s platoon could be found to testify. As no one came forward and because the MPs could find no physical evidence of this happening, the case was dropped along with all charges. Even so sir, the fact that it was put forward to the MPs in the first place indicates that his old CO had more than just a suspicion that this was going on; I think we need to approach this one with caution sir, maybe a candidate with a less… “chequered” past would be more appropriate.”


Argo gazed at his subordinate with his usual stony glare.
“Thank you Moore, you may go.”
The Junior Officer stayed seated.
“something else you wish to say? Well spit it out then.”
The subordinate replaced the aptitude file and recovered another file, this one written on faintly blue paper.
“There is one more thing I think you need to consider sir before making your final decision.”
Argo made a waving “carry on” motion with one hand.
Moore glanced down at the paper, “his psyche evaluation turned up some … interesting points. According to the examiner, the candidate was hiding a lot of repressed memories deep within his sub-conscious. He says that although he could not determine the origin or exact nature of those memories, his questions told him that they happened in the candidate’s early or late 20s and were of a very profound nature.
He reports that whatever happened to him during that period was damaging enough to actually change his personality somewhat as it was clear from his earlier questions that the person describing his childhood and the one describing his later years in the Army were too different to be simply a change of view.”
Moore paused, looking up at his CO, “I believe that the candidate we are reviewing is not the original person but a doppelgänger of sorts. Maybe it was this change that sparked the reports which almost lead to his Court Marshal. Whatever the case sir, I think that this person is dangerous; perhaps too dangerous even for us to consider. I’ll leave the matter in your hands.”
Moore stood up and saluted; placing the file on the desk he turned and made his leave of the office.
Glancing down at the still open file, Argo mused for a while. Poor Nicholas Moore. One day he would understand. One day when he took up Argo’s place he would understand that war was not a gentlemen’s game and never had been. In war you did what you had to and you turned to all sorts of people to get it done; whether they be “damaged”, “sadistic” or both. Sign up to the Geneva Convention all you like but at the end of the day, the Du’hadrin’s unofficial motto was the only law of this regiment; it read simply: “We get it done”

Reaching out to the pile and slipping a yellow piece of paper from the top, Argo opened a desk drawer and took out a large stamp. He coated it with red ink before pausing one final time, looking at the name on the paper. He shrugged, slamming the stamp down with a crack like a bullwhip.

The yellow form now read:

Captain Jason. A. Wight
transfer: APPROVED


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???
 
“Hey you there!”
…what?
“you planning on lying there forever or are you gonna get up sometime soon?”
…forever…soon…
“aww come on man, you can’t let it end like this! There was so much we were going to do! Mountaineering in Nepal, gate-crash your step-brother’s wedding, even…”
the voice leaned closer,
“have a little happy fun time with that hot piece of tail from the Duke’s Head pub.” The voice made a noise that was half a growl and half a wolf whistle, “you telling me your gonna give all that up just to lie there in a coma for the rest of your days?”
“What…where am I?”
There came a sarcastic snort, “Oh come on man, look around you. We’re in your “sub-conscious”, where else do ya think has all these pretty flashing colours and all your life’s events played out on a giant wall screen?”
There was an explosion of light and suddenly Hawk could see. He was floating in a miasma of colours, the entire rainbow constantly changing and swirling like someone had poured a batch of food colouring into a whirlpool. Dangling from absolutely nothing overhead was a projector that threw images onto an equally unattached film screen, the both of them remaining stock still in the multi-coloured maelstrom.

Hawk began to get a sense of himself; he was dressed in some very dirty and blood-stained desert combats, rips and rents clearly visible through which his own matted fur stuck through. Now that he looked around he saw that wasn’t actually floating as he previously thought but standing in thin air, unable to see or even feel the ground yet still having the sense of standing on a solid surface nevertheless. From out of the morass of colour coalesced a figure.
It was him, Hawk realised, only a little younger looking and wearing a…general’s uniform?
“Oh good you finally snapped out of it,” the figure wiped its brow in mock relief, “I was sure you’d just be floating there forever, then who would I be able to watch all these embarrassing little life moments with?” He indicated the screen, “shall we?”

From out of nowhere a luxurious leather sofa appeared. General Hawk removed his cap and collapsed down onto it with a huge sigh, “Now that’s better isn’t it? Hey don’t get too close! You can’t just dry clean this thing you know.” Hawk mouthed a “sorry” while his double brushed a speck of imaginary dirt of his lapel. Looking back to the screen the general doubled up in laughter, “I LOVE this part! Good on ya mate, I never thought you’d have the balls to actually ASK her!” He made an indecent gesture with a combination of his hand, tongue and cheek, “man if I didn’t already know what was going to happen I’d be baying at the moon by now!”
Hawk shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, “Wait… who actually are you?”
General Hawk looked up with an expression of profound hurt.
“Seriously? Can you not figure this out? Dude I thought you were smart, oh well I’ll spell it out for you.” He turned so as to be directly facing Hawk, “I. Am. Your. Conscience.”
Now it was James’ turn to look disbelieving.
“Really? Where’s your friend then?”
The general blew a raspberry, “Pffft, this isn’t Sunday School you know, you don’t have good me and evil me. Just “me”. I represent your base desires, the person who you really are on the inside. I help you with just that little nudge in the right direction that benefits us the most in the long run, although I can be both good,” he sprouted a pair of angel wings, “or evil,” which were joined by some red devil horns, “depending on the situation.”

The real Hawk pondered for a moment, “Ok conscience, I’ll bite. Why the hell am I here?”
Conscience looked like he was about to answer before guffawing at events still playing out on screen. “Ahahahah hahaha hah ha….sorry but you are a bit special sometimes, you really thought that was going to work?” He gestured at the screen, “I mean…she’s not a hooker you know…”
Hawk gave him a baleful look, “You finished?”
Conscience shook the last few giggles from his body, “Hehe…yeah. ANYWAY! Back to your question; well the truth is,” he waggled his fingers and took on a mystical, spooky voice, “you’ve gone insaaaane!”
Hawk raised an eyebrow.
“ok fine so I was lying, gotta give a guy a bit of credit for trying though. You know you’re a lot more boring when your pissed off then when your drunk, sheesh…”
Hawk made as if to get up from the sofa
“ok ok! You win! The REAL truth is…Fate.”
Hawk looked nonplussed, “…Fate?”
“Yup, believe it or not this is all preordained and it’s imperative that you are here instead of “out there” in the real world.”
Hawk breathed hard, “Ok, why is it “imperative” that I’m in here and not out there helping my squad mates?”
A sly grin spread across Conscience’s face, “You sure you really want to know? It’s really boring and un-epic by the way, nothing like “you must learn a great lesson about yourself” or “here is the information with which you can slay the mighty dragon” or anything cool like that. You sure you still want to know?”

Hawk nodded just once
“pffft ok then fine. The reason your here is to waste some time. See? Really really dull isn’t it?”
The pissed off look returned to Hawk’s face, “If your still lying I’ll…”
“Hey hey hey! For once I’m being serious and telling the truth! Doesn’t really matter to me whether you believe me or not just don’t shoot the messenger ok?”
“Ok then, tell me why we’re “wasting time” here.”
The grin spread again across Conscience’s muzzle, “Well if it told you that then this would be no fun at all would it?”
Before Hawk could get angry again Conscience checked a silver watch that had suddenly appeared on his wrist, “well bless me look at the time, it’s almost twelve eighths past fifteen! You need to go my friend, Fate waits for no man after all.”
From the rainbow world there came an almighty tearing noise and a point of pure light flashed into existence above their heads. Like a great hungry maw it started sucking in everything, colours, projector and even Hawk himself. With a desperate flail he managed to grab onto the arm rest of the sofa which had not quite been caught in the gravity well yet. Struggling to speak through the sound of the wind rushing past, Hawk tried shouting out to his Conscience who was still sitting casually on the sofa, looking up at him as though completely unaffected by the sucking vacuum. But it was too late, the wind drowned out any words he tried to say. Just before he could hold on no more and let himself slide into oblivion, Conscience stood up and walked over to him. Inclining his head so that it was close to Hawk’s ear, his words came through clearly and unaffected by the howling wind.

“Just remember,” he said, waggling his fingers and putting on a mystical and spooky voice, “this was all a drrreeeaaammm!”

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“Is he alive?”
“Yes, but just barely. Help me shift this rubble quickly, we need to get out of here soon before they return to search for any corpses to display.”
Hawk could hear a rough scraping sound from somewhere above him. He felt nothing; no pain, no discomfort, just a sort of peaceful emptiness that filled his entire being with a calm serenity. From the vague sounds he could pick up there was someone, or was it two some ones, scraping away just over his head. What had happened? His mind had gone blank.
“Ok, take this piece and pull it away when I tell you to. One, two, three. Now!”
There was the sound of falling rock and a great weight seemed to be suddenly lifted off of Hawk’s consciousness, the rubble having no physical presence in his mind at all.
“Right; be careful now and help me lift him, we’ll hold up somewhere close for the night and hope to ride this out. Ok let’s go. Up!”
And suddenly he was rising, his mind being lifted upwards and outwards, the grim darkness that had enclosed it being shed and rays of light circling his weary mind in a soothing light. Hey; maybe this “death” thing wasn’t so bad after all. Hawk blacked out.


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“How is the operation going on the field side of things? Has our little “problem” being taken care of yet?”
Loki drummed his pen on an open file, “Everything is proceeding exactly as planned sir. Our men on the ground are taking care of our little situation as quickly as can be expected with an operation as…delicate as this. My reports from our source indicate that it should be completed within the next day or so.”
General Sturnn looked coolly at his subordinate, “I hope for all our sakes that your man is reliable Loki. If not then we could be facing a serious problem in the not too distant future. I take it I do not need to remind you of the importance that this particular thorn in our sides is silenced. Permanently.”

Loki returned the look, “You have nothing to fear in this matter, I promise you that. After this has been dealt with there shall be nothing stopping phase two of Muspelheim from going ahead. And of course, all our old assets shall be expunged upon completion of their mission as per the usual protocol.”
Sturnn flashed a rare smile, “Good. See to it that this comes off without a hitch and then we can proceed. Now…” Sturnn checked a gold plated watch, “I have a meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff in an hour so I had better be going. I leave the resolving of this matter in your capable hands Loki. Do not disappoint me.”

With that, General Sturnn rose from his chair, strode to the oak paneled door and left with barely a backwards glance. In his padded chair, Loki sent his mind into scheming mode. Oh yes. Soon everything would be complete and the general would have his prize. For a while at least. The whirlpool of thoughts swirled again in his head as he thought of plot after plot, ploy after ploy until his head was a great maelstrom of deceit and deception. Soon, oh so soon, his greatest desires would be brought to fruition.
The power of a god; now that wasn’t something that happened to a human every day, but then again, Loki was certainly no ordinary drone trudging about his daily, boring life with nothing but empty and pointless thoughts in his head. Loki always knew he would one day be something special; the only question was what and how. Now he had his answer. He would go down in history as the first human to ascend to the heights of Divinity and as the first emperor of a united humankind.

All that stood in his way was a clueless oaf who liked to think he was in charge of this operation. Oh, and a few long-eared bipedal space aliens. No matter.

[Kaptain]

The idiot I can understand killing... But the fuzzy ears?! That [censored]!!! (still here btw)
Can't wait to find out more about Wight. And Hawk's role in all this.

[Thallium]

All shall be revealed soon my friend, just you wait and see. Without giving too much away, things will be….changing after the next chapter; you’ll just have to be patient to find out how.

On a related note, I’m at a cross-roads of sorts and need a little bit of help on how to continue. You see, my dilemma is that when I started this story I made sure that it had the potential to have a large plot that could keep going for quite a while and (hopefully) stay interesting throughout. I also have in mind several ways I could continue the over-arching narrative with another (semi-separate) story after the main plot from tAoW is finished. My problem is…do people want that? Do you want me to keep going with something that could potentially last for a good few years at the current rate or would you prefer that tAoW had a definite end with total closure rather than a “to be continued…”? I only ask now because it will be in the next few chapters that the ending (or the lack of an ending) will be decided and I obviously don’t want to embark upon a magnum opus if people don’t want one.

Anyway, no matter what you want, thank you for reading this far. I know that a war story is not everyone’s preferred genera so I was always pessimistic (as usual) about whether this would have any success or not so I was quite bowled over by how positive those first comments were. I also never thought I’d get 280+ views in just over 3 months so thank you all very much for that as well. Whatever happens, I shall see you sometime next week when the world as we know it shall get just that little bit…..stranger.

[Kaptain]

I prefer ling stories, but that's just me

It's your story, do what you want/think is best. If you end it, I'll celebrate it as a great story. If you continue it, I'll keep reading it. Either way, I'll be here.

[Thallium]

Well this has certainly been an epic journey so far guys. I never dreamed I would get so far in this story, I had always thought it would remain as a concept in my head forever but now I stand before you with something better than I could have ever imagined. It’s been fantastic fun to write it down (more challenging than I thought it would be to) and so now I present to you the final chapter in this first major part of the story.

I realise it’s more than a week late but let me assure you that there is a reason for that. You see, most of my chapters have averaged out at about 3500 words approx. This chapter however contains about 10600 words. Yeaaahh…..

I tried to split it up and upload it as separate chapters; I really did however upon going through it I couldn’t find a good enough place to make the split and so I thought “ahh to hell with it” and decided to make it into an epic. Probably quite fitting actually considering it’s the most major chapter by far in the whole story (so far ).

PS. I’m putting the actual chapter itself in a separate post for the simple reason that each post can only contain a max of 60000 characters and the chapter + this little intro is actually more then that…

Anyway, I’ll stop rambling now and get this show on the road. Let the change begin…

[Thallium]

Chapter 8 – Wolverines!


Ahaha yes, do you see them? Do you fear them? Can you feel your death closing in all around you? I wonder; are even capable of rational thought anymore?

Haha, I suppose it doesn’t surprise me. To be honest I’m amazed you can even remember how to speak. Considering what he did to you.

Hehe, well I’ll take a risk and play the gambit. You want to get out of here, no? Well then, let your final action be the most rational one of your life.

Seize your insanity by the throat and make your way to the High Tower. It’s where the doctors keep their lounge. It’s also the only place in the building where the windows are unlocked.

Throw yourself from the window; let your death cleanse you of your consciousness. After all, it’s the only way The Cradle will ever forget you.

You think I am insane, no? Quite possibly I am, for you see my dear, we're all mad here.

You want to stay? Go even deeper into the depths of depravity and madness like The King and that mad old hag who carries around her baby’s ashes in an urn wherever she goes?

Consider my suggestion.

Before I go, just remember one thing: If you want to stay, you’re gonna stay here forever! The Cradle is gonna bury you here…



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The sun was just slipping out of sight over the horizon when James Hawk regained consciousness. At first he thought he was still dreaming or hallucinating, the sun’s last rays casting flickering shadows across the dusty room in which he found himself so that the whole space had an eerie sense of not being wholly corporeal. After several minutes of staring as if in a trance at the constantly shifting light patterns, Hawk shook himself and looked around properly at his surroundings. It was indeed a large dusty room, whatever occupants it may have once had had clearly not set foot in here for several years. There was old furniture lined up against one wall: a grand looking hard wood table that had seen better times, a couple of broken chairs of the same wood and construction stacked on top of it, what looked like a battered rocking horse leaned at a strange angle in a cob-webbed corner. Apart from those items the room was bare, no carpet, no pictures, no nothing. The windows had been blacked out with masking tape as well. A hole along the opposite wall might once have contained a fireplace but it was impossible to tell in the dim light. The only other man-made item in the space was a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling that, along with the fast disappearing sun, was causing the psychedelic light show.

At last the sun set and the whole room dimmed till just the faint light of the bulb could be seen. An appropriate metaphor for his life at the moment Hawk thought. Now that he could see clearly, he noticed something else apart from the furniture in the room. In the corner opposite the rocking horse there appeared to be a cloth sack or blanket of some kind. Every now and then as Hawk watched it, it would shift and move very slightly as if stirred by a non-existent wind. After staring at it for a good few minutes, the blanket shifted again but this time one corner of it fell away to reveal…

“Arloest…?”

The whispered name seemed to cross the boundary between the waking world and the dream world because the figure suddenly stopped moving and cracked open its eyes.

“Hawk…?”

Arloest raised himself onto an elbow
“good to see ya finally awake, friend. We thought ya weren’t going to make it at first.”
Suddenly a memory of the last few hours flashed through Hawk’s mind, a dream about…something and then waking briefly to find himself being pulled out of the rubble by two mysterious voices. So he hadn’t been imagining it after all. A thought suddenly struck him.
“Wait, you said “we thought”?”
Arloest smiled, “Ya, you see…”
At that moment the room’s only door creaked open and a shadow slipped through.
“Good to see you’ve decided to rejoin the battle corporal, hope you’re ready for a fight.”
Captain Wight smiled down at him, his eyes as ever hidden behind those reflective sunglasses.
“I’m sure you have lots of questions but you’ll have to let Artimus here do the talking if he’s up to it. I only came to see if you were awake. I’d better get back on sentry; wouldn’t want to get jumped now would we?” And with that he turned on his paw and left through the creaking door.

Arloest raised himself up a little straighter, “Is he normally this nice? Everything I’d heard about this “Wolfpack” of yours said they were nothing but a bunch of ruthless killers. No offence.”
Hawk waved it away, “I’m not sure. He was like this when he was our company commander back when we first joined up but I’ve heard the same things you have as well. I just try not to think about it. The man’s an enigma.”
Arloest smiled, “Fair enough I suppose. But anyway, I’m sure you have lots more important questions then I do at the moment. You want to know what happened of course?”
Hawk nodded.
Arloest blew out his cheeks, “ok but get comfortable cos this is a long one.

“After the first ambush, me and my squad worked our way down the road until the first mortars hit us. We took refuge in a basement in one of the houses until it passed on. After we came out we could see nothing. No one else was in sight and the whole comms system seemed to have gone down somehow so we couldn’t raise anyone for help either. So, we followed orders and started heading for the rally point at the south end of the main road. We musta been about half way there when the second load hit; we were caught out in the open with no cover at all so we all dived down and prayed for our lives. I can’t remember exactly what happened but I must have blacked out at some point cos when I woke up there was no one there. My entire squad just disappeared. Well, I freaked out as you can imagine. Eventually thought I’d rather die heading for safety then curled up in some corner so I started making my way back on my own. That’s when your captain found me. Dunno how but he was suddenly standing right in front of me, just looking at me with those piercing eyes-

(piercing eyes?!)

-like he was deciding whether to shoot me or not. It was strange; at first he looked really angry but then it was almost like someone flicked a switch and he was suddenly smiling and telling me to hurry off the path before we were seen. I told him that I needed to get to our rally point but he said that he’d just come from that way and that it was impassable. Taliban road blocks and militia everywhere. He said that he still had a job to do here so I might as well stick around with him until tomorrow when we could try and get out when reinforcements arrived. It was getting late so he suggested we try and find somewhere to hold up for the night. Wasn’t hard to find a place, pretty much everyone’s fled the town.

We were just passing the ruins of some of the buildings caught in the barrage when we suddenly saw a pile of rubble moving ever so slightly. Wight said we better check it out and so we found you, hallucinating or something, talking to someone. We eventually got you out, covered in bruises and cuts but otherwise ok, and dragged you to one of the nearby buildings where we could rest for the night.”
Arloest gestured around him
“and so here we are.”
Hawk was stunned by his good fortune; what were the odds of him not only surviving half a building falling on top of him but also someone coming by just at the right moment to rescue him?
“How did you come to be in that rubble pile anyway?”

Hawk concentrated hard; what had happened in those last few minutes before he blacked out? Ahh yes, of course.
“I suppose a similar thing to what happened to you. We were caught out in the open during the second strike and couldn’t find cover. Guess the mortars must have directly hit the building we were next to and destroyed it-“
Suddenly Hawk’s eyes widened
“you didn’t find anyone else did you?!”
Arloest shook his head, “Sorry, no one. There were a few… bloodstains but none of your comrades. Looks like they all made it outa there alive.”
Hawk sighed with relief; at least they had not all been wiped out. There was still a chance they could all make it through this.

Arloest checked his watch,
“Crap, its 11:30. Wight said we’d be moving really early in the morning so we had better get some sleep while we can.” He nudged himself back down onto his back, “great to see you’re still alive James. Thought I was all alone out here.” And with that he fell asleep. Hawk looked over at the slumbering form, a sudden tiredness washing over him like a relentless wave,
“Yeah, good to see you to Artimus,” he said while stifling a yawn. There was so much to think about, so much to take in. But no, he was too tired to do anything now. Later… tomorrow. Then he would try and make sense of everything that had happened today. And just like his friend, he slipped instantly into unconsciousness.

Outside on a balcony overlooking the street below, Captain Wight lay watching the world go by. There was barely any movement now; most of the civilian population had fled and the only flickers of life he saw was the occasional brave soul hurrying back to their houses to salvage anything they could before the inevitable counter attack tomorrow. His keen ears had picked up most of what his two strays had said during their little reunion. They thought he was…“nice”? Good, better to have them fooled then know the truth about what was really going on.

From inside his jacket pocket, a very faint buzzing could be heard. Reaching down, Wight retrieved a small handheld transceiver and held it up to his face, removing his sunglasses as he did. A single word had flashed up on the screen: “Secured”.
Finally. The others were all now in position. It was time to finish this job.


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Hawk was awoken to the sight of himself staring wide-eyed back at him. It took him a few moments to realise that it was just Wight’s sunglasses and not just another hallucination or dream. He had been troubled by several spectres that night, each one in turn taking the form of one of the members of 3 section. The last two to appear were those of Amsel and Keith. Unlike the others they both materialized simultaneously, doing nothing more than stare at him from above just like all the others had before them. He tried to call out but once again, no sound emerged from his throat. With a sorry sigh the two dream figures turned away, Keith throwing a last look back over his shoulder before turning back with a sad shake of the head. After a few paces they had faded into nothing and Hawk was left screaming at the space where they had been with nothing but angry air escaping his lungs. It was after this last visitation that he had awoken to Wight staring back at him.

“Get up quickly, we need to move before the sun starts to rise and our insurgent friends wake for pre-dawn prayers.”
Hawk nodded and stood up shakily using the wall as a support. To his right he noticed all his equipment: webbing, rifle and helmet stacked up in a neat pile. He grabbed it all, feeling the familiar weight that several hundred rounds of ammunition brought with it. Across the darkened room he saw Arloest doing the same with the addition of a camo duffle bag which looked like it contained the remains of a large radio set that he had slung across his shoulder on top of his webbing. Hawk checked his watch: 4:00, Wight was cutting it a bit fine if he intended to get out of the town by sunrise. Talking of which, where had Wight gone? The muscled captain seemed to have disappeared again without a trace. How the hell was a Basitin his size able to move so stealthily?

As if on cue, Wight stood in the doorway, “Ok, let’s go.”
Hawk and Arloest threw acknowledging glances at each other before carefully following the Captain out of the room and into a small hallway. Taking a left, Wight lead them through another door and suddenly they were outside on a small stone balcony overlooking the street. The group took a flight of stone steps leading down from the balcony until they were on the ground, each man checking his arcs of fire with an eye glued to his respective scopes. They moved in perfect silence, darting from one low wall to the next, from one tall shrubbery to another all the while keeping on guard in case any early rises were up to take in the view.

They had been going like this for a good half hour without seeing a soul before a quiet, barely audible `ker-ch` noise sounded from the Captain at the head of the little column. With a small gasp he reeled, almost falling over backwards and clutching at his chest. Hawk ran to grab him but he reached out and steadied himself before he fell, dragging himself behind the side of a house and away from the street. The other two sprinted into cover next to him, “Are you hit?!” hissed Arloest, reaching forward for where Wight still clasped at himself.
“No! No… It’s…I’m fine, I just…”
Hawk was dumfounded, was that…“terror” on the Captain’s face? Surely that couldn’t be right…

Wight closed his eyes in concentration for a few seconds, never for a moment letting go of his chest. Hawk couldn’t see any blood so he wasn’t shot and he was still breathing normally so it didn’t look like a heart attack… what was going on? Now that he looked closer though, Wight did seem…different from usual. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but Hawk could swear that the Captain’s fur used to be darker then this; maybe it was just a trick of the light. Focusing on the pained expression on his face, Hawk leaned in; odd…he’d never noticed the scar running down Wight’s right eye before…or the one that looked like it had almost bisected his right ear for that matter. True he had never exactly been this close to him before but Hawk couldn’t believe he had managed to miss something like this for the several months that he had served under him during training. There was also something…familiar about Wight now, something different from what he had known before.

Noticing Hawk’s confused look Wight suddenly stood up, brushing off his two strays and quickly turning away. Grabbing his rifle from where he had dropped it a few meters away he continued on past them, head inclined down towards the ground, “No time, keep going,” he said in a strained voice. Wight even sounded different Hawk realised. What the [censored] was going on here? The party continued on much as they had done before, though their silence was more forced then it had been before. Arloest only had the vaguest clue that something was amiss, having only just met the man yesterday but James knew that there was something much deeper that was the matter. Something ethereal that he just couldn’t quite see.

As they kept going the sky gradually began to get lighter, the first hints of colour starting to appear on the horizon. They needed to hurry up. The small group reached a cross-roads, one path leading down to Pegasus where they had been ambushed the day before, one leading back the way they had come and the last wandering its way up a small hill to what looked like a group of office buildings or apartments at its top. Still with his back to them, Wight spoke in a hushed voice, “It’s time to part ways. You two get back to the main road and make your way to the south end. I heard over the radio last night that they’re sending the first patrols into the town at first light. Try not to get yourselves blue on blued.” Without another word the mysterious Basitin hurried off into the gloom in the direction of the hill, leaving Hawk and Arloest alone by the side of the road.

“I take it he’s always been this…unusual?”
“No; he hasn’t. I’ve never seen him like this before. That’s what worries me.” Hawk gestured towards the south, “come on, let’s get back to our own lines. I want this nightmare to be over as quickly as possible.”
“Aye to that friend, can’t think of anything better than a good hot shower and some proper food right now; let’s go.”

The pair crept off, still checking their arcs with every step. It would be a sorry thing to be discovered and be killed now when they were so close to salvation. Step by painfully slow step they inched their way down Pegasus until they finally reached the town’s border. The sun’s first rays were now beginning to show over the mountains, turning the endless desert that now stretched out before them into a myriad of shimmering heat hazes and mirages. The two took refuge in a partially destroyed house on the outskirts, waiting for any sign of their guardian angels calling. They had been waiting for ten minutes or so before Hawk broke their enforced silence, “Wight said that he heard over the radio that the first patrols would be sent in at first light, right?”
Artimus hunkered down next to him, “Yeah, why?”
Hawk looked at him with a hint of concern in his eyes, “…Did you see him carrying a radio at all?”
For a second the look was returned, “No…I didn’t…” but then in a flash it was gone again, Artimus’ usual optimistic grin replacing it in an instant, “ahhh who cares? Probably just had it in his pocket or something, nothing to get worried over. Listen…I think I can hear Humvees!”
There was indeed a distant roar coming from the desert that carried the Humvees distinctive growl. Artimus’ grin widened, “haha we’re saved! It’s all over!”
Hawk was not so jubilant however; the captain’s strange behaviour still playing on his mind. Had he missed those scars all this time? Had he maybe missed a small radio that Wight was carrying? He kept replaying the time he spent training with him and then the last few hours over and over in his mind but every time he thought about it he grew ever more concerned. Another missing piece that had just occurred to him was: what was Wight doing all on his own in the middle of an enemy held town during a fire fight? And where was the rest of the Wolfpack anyway? They never struck out on their own as far as Hawk knew. Something was afoot. He could feel it.

Hawk was finally brought out of his brooding by the squeal of tyres and the sound of many booted feet hitting the compacted earth. Artimus Arloest leapt to his feet, “Well, it’s time. Let’s meet up after all this is over; tell our story to everyone and then get drunk. Whaddya say James? Come on; let’s get this over and done with!”
The boots were getting closer now
“Friendlies coming out!” yelled Arloest at the top of his voice.
“Friendlies, west side!” joined in Hawk.

“…James?”

“…Keith?”

Forgoing protocol, Hawk positively jumped out of the front door and caught his friend rushing towards him in a huge bear hug.
“Where the [censored] have you been mate, we all got [censored] scared thinking you had died under that rubble! What happened?!”
Hawk paused to collect his thoughts, hours of constant worry and fear for the safety of his friend had taken their toll on him mentally. Arranged around various Humvees in the background were familiar faces from the other two sections from 2nd platoon that had taken part in the initial attack plus some addition reinforcement sections. Clearly they were back for blood. He looked behind Keith to see a healthy looking Sargent Amsel with a large grin on his face and then the rest of 3 section behind him; Carter, Zeigler, Corren; all looking happy that they had been reunited after what had seemed like days apart. There was however one notable exception among 3 section’s ranks.
“Where’s Heller?”
Keith’s face fell from its smile
“I’m sorry mate; he got hit as we were making our way south towards extraction. Must have been about 20 minutes after you got buried. We searched for you for as long as we could, honestly we did, but eventually those [censored] caught up to us and we had to move. They pursued us the whole way back, it’s a miracle that more of us weren’t hit the fire was so intense. We must have been about half a K away from here when he took a round through the chest. Armour piercing sniper round straight through the heart; nothing we could do. We carried him back though, the whole damn way through this sorry piece of makurda land. At least he’ll get a… proper burial back home.”
Home…
Hawk was greatly saddened by the news; he and Heller had always been good friends and the knowledge that not all of them would be there to tell stories and jokes about this afterwards sank a lead weight into his stomach that no amount of joy brought by their reunion could relieve.

Standing rather awkwardly behind the group, Arloest gave a small cough.
“Don’t wanta interrupt anything here but err… do you guys have any idea where delta squad is? It’s just that I don’t see a single human face here and, frankly, I can’t understand a word you guys are saying…”
Amsel ridded himself of the sour expression that had crossed his muzzle upon the retelling of Heller’s death. There would be time for grief later.
“Thule’s lot have gone round the other side of Sangin I’m afraid. We’re going with a two pronged attack from the north and south to try and cleanse this town of insurgents now that the majority of the civilian population has fled and also to find any of the missing that were unaccounted for after the battle. Drones are overhead to try and spot targets for us and locate any MIAs who might be still alive. We’ll fan out and start looking and we won’t stop until we meet up with your friends somewhere in the middle of the town. For now, it looks like your with us. Welcome to the Du’hadrin, Private Arloest.”

Artimus’ face was a mixture of probably every expression it had ever worn with “raised eye-brows” being the most prevalent. Keith tapped him on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, we should be meeting up with the your squads just after midday by the Sergeant’s reckoning. Come to the back with me, we’re all getting out of here alive ok?”
Arloest gave a stifled sort of nod and let Keith lead him to the rear of 3 section. As he passed, Keith whispered in his friend’s ear, “go speak with Amsel as we move out; get up to speed.”
Hawk nodded. He had plenty of questions.

The sergeant was bussing himself with a map when Hawk approached him. Looking up, the familiar smile returned to Amsel’s face, “Welcome back Corporal Hawk, been a trying few hours has it not?”
Hawk nodded, “Yes sir it has; I have a few things to report when we get back to Robinson but I was hoping you could tell me a little of what happened here. Gerrard said there were some things…”
Amsel placed down the map on a Humvees bonnet
“Yes, I’m afraid we weren’t the only section to suffer casualties during the ambush. 1 lost a man: Corporal Brecher, who I believe you knew quite well and 2 suffered three KIAs when they took a direct hit from a mortar shell: Vergiss, Eiser and Pheron. All in all, this has been the worst day for the Du’hadrin since its inception and believe you me SOMEONE is going to be paying for this when we finish up here! Mark my words on that corporal…” He took a deep breath, “anyway; we are now here to purge this area once and for all, a task that all of us I have no doubt shall enjoy a great deal. All we need now is the go-ahead from Rorke and we’ll be moving out.” He gestured to Arloest who was standing at the back talking to Gerrard, “he’ll get back with his squad and then we can all get drunk and forget all about this. How the hell did you meet up with him anyway?”
Hawk was just about to answer when Amsel’s radio started to crackle.




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The sergeant had spent a good ten minutes talking into his pack radio by the time the platoon was ready to move out. They all knew it was highly unlikely that their presence or that of the Americans on the outskirts of the town had gone unnoticed by their fanatic friends and so they wanted to get moving as quickly as possible before they could establish some proper defences. Fate, however, was having other ideas about their swift departure. As an insurance policy, a small fleet of drones and been flown around the outskirts of Sangin to check for any lurking rocketeers or mortar teams that were hiding in the scrubland and desert for another ambush. A fine plan in principle but not so great when you lost all contact with all the drones. As far as anyone knew they had not come under fire but had simply stopped working; even their operators had no clue about what had happened let alone how to salvage the situation.

The little radio debate was between Rorke and Major Williams with the respective British and American ground commanders hanging on for dear life as the two angrily debated what to do and how to precede with the mission. Very unprofessional. The reason Amsel was involved was because he had gained himself a temporary field promotion to Warrant Officer 2nd Class, partly due to his bravery the previous day but mostly because Knight had taken a “leave of absence” due to “unforeseen circumstances” after the beleaguered platoon had limped their way back into FOB Robinson that night. Rorke and Williams were having their shouting contest over whether or not to postpone the attack on Sangin until another UAV flight could be arranged; with Rorke out for immediate blood and Williams being perhaps the more sensible of the two and opting to wait and make sure that there were no nasty surprises waiting for them out in the desert. The two looked like they would be going at each other all day and indeed probably would have had a mighty explosion not erupted out of the centre of Sangin just as Rorke had said the words “no danger whatsoever”. The air waves suddenly stopped buzzing with traffic as everyone, the two majors included, watched or listened to the aftermath. The blast was big enough to have sent a dark black cloud a hundred foot into the air already and the resulting sonic boom had shaken nearby street signs and lampposts with surprising force. That sealed the deal for Rorke.

“See! We need to get in there and destroy these makurdas before whatever they detonated happens again!”
There was a long sigh from Williams
“Ok Rorke, fine. You win. We’ll go ahead with the attack but I warn you: any deaths that occur today will be on YOUR head you hear me!”
With that, Williams switched onto the private frequency and began addressing his ground forces. Rorke did the same
“Ok WO Amsel, I don’t care what those yanks are doing but you are going to be finding the source of that explosion! Kill any and all hurdles in your path and try to find any evidence of survivors if you can but your main objective is to find and neutralize whatever those crazy zealots have cooking up there. Any means necessary, no prisoners. Rorke out.”

Amsel threw an apologetic look over to Arloest before hefting his rifle into his shoulder
“Platoon! Our objective is whatever caused that explosion. No prisoners, no mercy. Move out!”

Hawk decided that now was not the time to tell Amsel about Wight and instead fell back to his usual position in 3 section’s ranks at the rear of the contingent. There he met up with Artimus and Keith who was also acting as the American’s translator for Amsel’s orders. They hadn’t even set off down the road yet when a second, smaller explosion sounded in the distance. While having nowhere near the kick of the first, it was still mighty enough to be felt from all this distance away. Amsel barked into his radio, “Operator, get me a location of those blasts. I don’t want to be walking blind out here. Over.”
The radio seemed to hiss angrily at him
“Confirmed Theta 2, they seem to be coming from what looks like a block of apartments on the top of a small hill, about a mile from you position. Over.”
Amsel glanced up at the block smoke billowing out, “Any visuals on enemy movement in that area? Over.”
“No. But then I can’t see anything out there the smoke is so thick. Looks like your flying by yourself on this one Theta 2. Operator out.”
The sergeant cursed under his breath
“Dammit! OK listen up! We’re gonna be taking the back routs to get to our objective. It’s about a mile away up a small hill so keep your guard up. Radio silence unless absolutely necessary and no talking.”
He paused
“lest we disturb this slumbering beast.”

The platoon started to patrol forward with speed, keeping to the gardens of houses and back streets as much as possible while keeping up the pace. They had fanned out into a thin line, advancing on the hill and keeping their eyes and ears open in case of any “surprises” of the extremist kind. The lessons of yesterday had been learned the hard way. After 10 minutes they reached the bottom of the small rise, leading up to where the smoke hung over the block of apartments like an omen of misfortune. They had not heard so much as a scuttle from the insurgents that they all knew must be hiding here somewhere and as a consequence they were all getting a little jumpy. Not seeing them was a bad sign; it meant that they had to be planning something up ahead. However, they had no choice in the matter but to continue and so Amsel signalled them to begin the accent. While the hill was not steep, its incline meant that there were fewer houses up here to provide cover as most of the land was given over to gardens filled with all kinds of hardy flowers and shrubs. Clearly this was where Sangin’s elite made their homes. However, even this period of darting from exposed bush to exposed bush was not sullied by a single AK shot. Where were they all? After many never wracking minutes, 2nd platoon finally made it to their destination at the top of the hill. What they were looking at was certainly not what they had expected to find up here, that was for certain. Instead of a Taliban arms cache or fuel dump, what they were looking at was...
“A big hole in the ground?”

The crater, about 5 meters in diameter, had been blown out of the centre of the road, bits of twisted and stressed metal lay scattered around like pieces of a discarded mechano set. Amsel peered in
“Looks like… an underground chamber…”
Everyone was as curious as they were intrigued and only their soldier’s instinct kept them from taking a look themselves; danger still lurked out here after all. Amsel came to a snap decision; he had been ordered to discover the cause of the explosion so that’s what he would do.
“Rodriguez!”
A lanky Basitin with cream-white fur hastened over to the sergeants position
“Sir?”
Amsel cast around him, trying to plot a route through the mass of buildings that lead back to the centre of the town.
“Take 1 and 2 section back down and do as we were originally ordered. Find any MIAs and kill any resistance you encounter. I will take 3 down there,” he jerked a thumb towards the smoking pit, “and find the source. We’ll rendezvous in the main square when were done; got it?”
Rodriguez nodded vigorously, “Aye sergeant, we’ll get it done!”
He hurried back to where the others were waiting, darting between the various section’s ICs and informing them of the change of plans. Amsel turned to Artimus, “Go with 2 section, they’ll get you back to your own squad when we meet up with your platoons at the main square. Quickly now.”
Arloest stood his ground
“Actually, if it’s ok with you sergeant, I’d rather stay here with 3 section. I just got a… feeling about this place. I’d rather tag along here if that’s ok?”
Amsel raised an eyebrow
“You do realise that we have no idea what’s down there don’t you? You would be able to get back to your squad much sooner if you follow the others, and it would probably be safer to.”
Arloest nodded, “I realise that sir, I don’t know what it is but I feel I have to stay. I just… can’t explain it,” he finished rather lamely.
Amsel gave him a quizzical look and then sighed, “Ok, as long as you know what you’re letting yourself in for.” He signalled to Rodriguez and without a word, two thirds of the platoon rose to their paws and set off silently back the way they had come, leaving 3 section alone yet again in the centre of hostile territory.

When the last of them had disappeared over the edge of the hill, Amsel called 3 section to gather round him
“I have to admit I have a… slightly ulterior motive here than just Rorke’s orders. I’ve been getting similar sorts of feelings about this place as Private Arloest has. Last night when we got back to Robinson, I “overheard” one of the radio ops talking about how a US patrol captured a few insurgents outside of Sangin earlier that day. Under persuasion, they said that they had actually been fleeing from Sangin, told the interrogators that something evil had entered the city and they were getting out while they still could.
Apparently quite a few of the locals have gone missing recently and some sort of wailing sounds have been heard across the town in the middle of the night. They said that all the missing were last seen walking as if in a trance up to a block of apartments on a small hill… and then they’re never seen again.
Anyway, I don’t believe in all the “evil” nonsense but something is making those people disappear and I’m willing to bet my tail it has something to do with this,” he said, indicating the crater. “I want to go down there and find out what’s going on; are you with me?”
Of course they all were, genetic pre-disposition to follow orders or not, they would have followed Amsel implicitly to the depths of Hell and back had he asked it of them. And Artimus? Well he was into the frying pan now. At least he understood the eerie feeling that the sergeant had been getting.

Once again Amsel peered into the hole. The smoke was gradually starting to clear now and more of the chamber was becoming visible through the haze. Its walls were clad in metal that was now soot streaked and blackened by the blast that had blown most of the roof off and into the surrounding streets above and seemed to contain what looked like laboratory equipment of some kind, all similarly charred. No threat were immediately evident so Amsel gave a last look round to his squad mates before nimbly dropping the three meters to the chamber floor, landing with the barest hint of a sound. The others quickly followed suit with Arloest briefly looking skywards to heaven before closing his yes and dropping in. Now that they were inside they could see that the room was in fact much larger then it appeared from above, extending in all directions for a good way it was about as long as a leisure centre sports hall but only about as wide as the crater itself. It was definitely some sort of laboratory though, that much was evident from the row upon row of work tables all complete with gas taps, alchemical apparatus and various bottles of chemicals many of which carried the yellow signs for corrosive, explosive and dangerous.
Zeigler was not impressed
“Oh come on, really? Suspicious wailings, disappearing townspeople and what we find as a James Bond villain’s secret underground lab? Does anyone else think this is all too cliché to be real?”
The incredulous look was quickly wiped off his face however by the sudden chatter of automatic rifle fire from somewhere close by that sent the entire section diving behind the worktops. Just as soon was it started though; it stopped. Carter peeped round from behind his desk, “I know those guns… those are SA80s firing!”
He looked at his fellow soldiers
“we’re not the only Du’hadrin down here.”

That sent the chills up everyone’s spine. According the their brief, they were the only Du’hadrin company in these entire region and all but 2nd platoon were now sitting back in Robinson, twiddling their thumbs and waiting for news from Sangin. Whoever was down here was doing it off the books. Even Arloest felt the chill.

Silently; using only hand signals and mouthing, Amsel rose the section to its paws and maneuverer them over to where the sound had originated from. Upon closer inspection, the lab took an abrupt dog-leg to the right and continued on until it suddenly ended in a heavy looking metal door that would not have looked out of place in a bank vault or a prison. Intriguingly, that same door had had a pretty hefty breeching charge strapped across it which had blown a good chunk of it into the next room which was dimly visible through the gap. Having resumed his position as lead scout, Carter crept up and gently eased it open with a heart that thundered in his chest like the wrath of Zeus himself. The door opened smoothly on greased hinges and 2 section entered the corridor that greeted them without a sound, despite the steady pounding that everyone could hear in their ears. The long stretch before them was contrastingly dark from the now open-air room that they had just left behind. Someone had clearly cut the power and the large bulbs suspended overhead now hung useless in their sockets like a hundred blank staring eyes.

Despite a sense of ominous foreboding so tangible you could cut it with a bayonet, the group moved forward into the dark corridor, each set of eyes probing the darkness for the slightest movement or softest sound. As it was his duty to be prepared for every eventuality, Amsel had been the only one with the presence of mind to include a torch when he had packed up for this mission. Never taking his eye of Carter’s back, he slipped a hand into his webbing and retrieved its reassuringly bulky form, wincing ever so slightly as he clipped it to the end of his rifle with the tiniest of clicks. He wasn’t the only one who heard the sound. From somewhere less than three meters away; someone coughed. The entire section instantly snapped up their rifles at the sound, searching for its source in the dark. Quick as lightning, Amsel activated the torch, bathing the corridor in a piecing light that penetrated every inch of darkness like knife through soft flesh. Propped upright against the wall less than a few paces away and levelling his side arm at Carter, was the shattered body of a tan-furred Basitin. One that bore the symbol of a howling wolf on his left shoulder. A member of the Du’hadrin Wolfpack.

“Findel?” breathed Amsel, “Is that you?”
The 2nd lieutenant dropped his pistol to his side and looked up through pain filled eyes, his body riddled with several free-flowing bullet holes. Even a Basitin couldn’t survive wounds of that magnitude. Findel coughed again, “You mind getting that light out of my face? I’d rather not die blinded if it’s all the same to you Amsel.”
The sergeant dropped the light to the floor
“What the hell are you doing here Marcus? Where’s the rest of the Wolfpack? Where’s Wight?”
Findel gave a choking laugh, “That my friend is a question I would very much like to know myself. Where is the dear captain I wonder? All I know is that the person on the other side of that door,” he gestured to the end of the corridor, “behaves like Wight but certainly looks and sounds a bit different. He’s been funny ever since this morning…”
Corren knelt down next to the stricken lieutenant, a first field dressing and a med pack in his hands but Findel pushed him away.
“Leave me be; I’d rather it be finished now.” The Basitins understood; an honourable death was better than the potential to live as a cripple.

Findel’s breath came ragged now and he closed his eyes, calmly awaiting the coming oblivion. Before he went however, Amsel needed some information.
“Marcus,” the dying Basitin’s eyes flashed open again in annoyance, “Why is the Wolfpack here? What have you been doing?”
Findel gazed at him, perhaps wondering whether his last action on this Earth would be releasing classified information to someone without the proper clearance.
“Ok,” he wheezed, “I’ll tell; this operation’s blown sky high anyway, just leave me alone afterwards.” He gathered himself, staving off death’s embrace for a few more moments.
“We are here as part of a mission that has been going on for months now, in fact it started the night we landed in this barren wasteland. The go ahead for it came straight from Vezax himself; wanted it kept under wraps. That’s why you haven’t seen or heard from us your entire stay here.” Findel gave a mischievous smile which quickly vanished, “Vezax tasked us with searching out a particular target; didn’t know where he was but he did have lead in a town called Nad Ali just outside Bastion. The only one who knew the identity of the target or the reasons for the hit was Wight himself. Vezax was very insistent upon that…

To cut a story short, we’ve been traveling round chasing each thread in this string for the last few months until we were lead to a house here in Sangin two days ago. Guy there told us the rumours about this hill which I’m sure you’ve heard and also told us exactly where he had seen one of the disappear-ees vanish off to. Wasn’t too hard to follow up once we located the place, although Wight… he sure took his time getting here. Those explosions which brought you to this Masks-forsaken place was our handiwork, blew straight through the ground and into that lab with a couple of det-paks, and pretty accurately too if I do say so myself.” Findel attempted a sort of clumsy bow; clearly loss of blood was beginning to fog his mind. Amsel gave him a gentle shake, “And then what happened?”
Findel roused himself, “Then? Well we jumped in of course. Kinda surprised and disappointed by the lack of humans to slaughter but then I guess you can’t have everything…” it seemed the lieutenant hadn’t even registered that Arloest was standing there, although it was still probably for the best that the private couldn’t understand a word.
“Wight lead us forward, got to this place without seeing a soul when suddenly they jumped us. Came out of nowhere that’s for sure, shot at us a bit and then disappeared again,” he gestured to his wounds, “guess that’s the price of not paying attention eh?”
Amsel leaned in, “You said Wight was up ahead, what’s he doing? Why did they just leave you here?”
Findel gave him a contemptuous look, “I fell behind didn’t I? Not of much use to them when I can’t even move am I. As for Wight…” Findel’s eyes dimmed, the last of his life slipping out of them, “well… I guess you’ll just have to find out… for yourself.”

The Basitins bowed slightly, a sign of respect for a fallen comrade who had given his life for his commander. Even Arloest who had never even seen him before and had no idea what had just been said, implicitly inclined his head in respect for the dead.

Amsel stood up, the moment of grief pushed aside for a later date
“Our orders still apply,” he breathed, “we need to find Wight and find out what’s really going on here before it’s too late.” He turned to Artimus
“Private Arloest, you’re a good soldier and a good man and I know you want to find out what’s going on but this is something that me and my men need to do alone. Please, stay here with the lieutenant. We’ll come back for you when this is all over and then we can arrange for his body to be taken out. Until then, please, make sure he stays safe.”
Arloest snapped a crisp salute
“It would be my honour sir.”
Amsel nodded, “Thank you.” Switching to his Basitin tongue, Amsel spoke his next words in a snarling growl
“Basitins of the Du’hadrin; let us finish this!”




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So, you chose to stay here I see. Odd, I took you for more of the brave type but I guess even my deductions can be wrong, no? What? Why are you staring at me like that? It’s not my fault you’re now stuck here forever; an endless cycle of having your every thought and action controlled by this… place.

You’re a puppet now, you realise that? A slave, a thrall; nothing more than any of the rest of them now. Is this what you really want? To live for the rest of you days as the Cradle’s plaything, to be done with as it pleases?

There is however... another way out. You know Alena Szhiganie? The pyromaniac from Cell 9? Well, as a special treat for good behaviour, she is allowed to light the fire in the main hall once a month. Under supervision of course; wouldn’t want any “accidents” now would we? Everyone else here is beyond being rational, but not you. You can still think, you can still imagine the outside world as a place to be desired after. Sure you’re a little crazy but your minds not too far gone yet. After all if it was you wouldn’t be listening to the voice in your head trying to reason through escape plans with you, no?

Since you’re still sane you can think two steps ahead of the game, be able to see what consequences your actions would have. It would be an awful shame if the nurse supervising Alena were to have an…“unfortunate” accident, wouldn’t it? Flames brought you here in the first place and it is by the flames that you shall be released.

I’m sure you know what to do now, eh friend?




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The room beyond was a charnel house. Bodies lay everywhere in pools of blood so large that most of the floor was a steaming crimson lake. The fresh scent of battle hung in the air along with the screams of the dead. To Keith’s relief, all the bodies here were human and had all been dispatched by small clusters of bullets to the torso or by long, sweeping slashes that made been made by the Wolfpack’s Burricks. Neither the sight nor the smell had any effect on him anymore; he had seen so much worse in his time after various artillery strikes that even the man who had been nearly cut in half by two sword strikes failed to arouse any emotion within him whatsoever. They all stepped carefully over the bodies, taking care not to disturb any of the hundreds of shell casing littering the floor for fear of alerting either more fighters or the Wolfpack to their presence here.

The room appeared to be a waiting room of some kind, a desk and some chairs were smashed in one corner and in the other was a trapdoor with a large sign printed with red warning letters overhead.
“Emergency use only. Do not enter,” read Corren.
Several bloody paw prints lead over to the trapdoor and a hand print could be seen on its handle. 3 section looked at one another; their quarry was close now, they could feel it. Lifting the hatch by the smallest of cracks, Amsel checked the rim for traps. None, it seemed the Wolfpack had not expected to be followed. With a nod at the others Amsel swung himself down onto a ladder below the trapdoor and disappeared out of sight. Keith offered a final plea to the Masks before following the others down the hole, Hawk bringing up the rear behind him.

The decent was long and claustrophobic and after a few minutes of climbing even Amsel was beginning to feel the burn of lactic acid coursing through his muscles and veins. Just as the sergeant caught sight of the bottom of the shaft below him, voices started to drift up towards from what could only be the room just beyond. There were several to be heard and they sounded like they were having an argument of some kind. Above them all, one voice cut through to Amsel’s core. It was different certainly, much like Findel had said, but it was still unmistakably the voice of the Wolfpack’s Alpha Prime.

Jason Wight.

Amsel looked up to see his squad mates looking back down at him. They all knew what to do. Unslinging his rifle, Amsel dropped the last couple of meters down the chute, landing lightly and rolling away from the base of the ladder through the entrance to the area beyond. Like paras dropping out of a plane’s fuselage 3 section followed, each taking up a position in front of the shaft and setting rifles squarely into shoulders. Nothing could have prepared them for what they saw however. The chamber in which they now found themselves was vast, stretching away an incalculable distance into the background in all directions. In the centre was a giant, transparent column made of glass and metal, within which seemed to flow rivers of pure energy. The awesome power of this central structure permeated the entire chasm with light and the crackling feeling of raw power. There was little floor space in the entire subterranean expanse, only a ring around the outside with several bridges leading to a smaller ring around the energy column. Below them, the inky blackness fell away to what looked like the centre of the Earth. Nothing that fell in there would ever be seen again that was for sure.

Now that he had eyes on the ground, Keith could see the origin of the voices. On the central ring he could see several figures, each of whom had their rifles pointed at two people near the edge of the precipice. Their forms were dark, contrasted against the blaze of light but even so, it was still possible to recognise one of them without a shadow of a doubt.

Captain Wight was holding a tall, dark haired human in a long white coat over the brink of the abyss by the scruff of the neck, the man’s feet only just touching the platform. Strangely, both wore expressions of utmost determination despite their vastly different predicaments.
“Wight!” yelled Amsel, “what are you doing?! Put him down!”
In an instant half the Wolfpack snapped their rifles up to point at the intruders; 3 section did likewise.
A look of profound annoyance crossed Wight’s muzzle
“This is none of your business Amsel! This is our fight not yours; get your men out of here NOW!”
3 section held their ground
“Or what, captain? We have orders from Rorke to investigate this place so that’s what we’re going to do. Are you going to compromise our mission for some archaic sort of pride?!”

“GRRAGGHH!!”

Wight threw aside the human and drew his pistol, pointing it directly at Amsel’s forehead.
“Archaic pride?! This is way more than that, sergeant. What we are about to accomplish here is more significant than your tiny mind can possibly comprehend and you are about to ruin it!”
Amsel let lose a snarl of his own, “In that case, why did you blast your way into this place hmm? Did you really think that someone wouldn’t hear two massive explosions and come to investigate? You have only yourself to blame for us being here, captain.”
Suddenly the furious expression left Wight’s face
“Explosions? What are you talking about, we didn’t blast our way in…”
Now Amsel looked dumbfounded, “Then who…”

“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!”

All eyes and weapons turned to the location of the voice. Unseen amongst the furious back and forth between the two commanders, the human and crawled away out of sight and had now reappeared on a slightly raised section of the central ring that contained numerous control panels and instruments. Smoothing down is ruffled white coat with one hand and holding what looked like a grenade launcher pointed at the Wolfpack in the other, the human spoke with a calm and collected voice that was devoid of any discernable accent.
“I think we’ve all heard quite enough from you two, do you not think?”
He gestured at the immobile 3 section, still standing as they were across the abyss on the outer ring
“come closer my furred friends, we wouldn’t want me doing anything irrational would we?”
None of them wanted to obey but nor could they risk the man carrying out his threat and blowing the Du’hadrin’s elite to kingdom come. Very slowly, eyes ever fixed on the human, 3 section made their way across the thin bridge connecting the two rings to go and stand with the Wolfpack as the man had told them. Distrustful looks were thrown from Basitin to Basitin as they shuffled around on the narrow platform.

The human slicked back his long dark hair with his free hand, the launcher never wavering on its target.
“Captain Wight. It is “Wight” is it not? You did indeed hear your colleague correctly about several explosions attracting their attention here. Funny is it not? Such a strong willed race of people and yet still so easily corrupted by promises of money and power. Your comrade was almost too easy; he practically begged to betray you...”
A flash of realization and then hatred crossed Wight’s countenance, “Findel…”
The human slapped a thigh, “That’s right, he’s been feeding me your every move since you got here. Been quite entertaining to watch actually, you killing off my men one by one until they eventually lead you here. I have been waiting for this moment a long time, although I must congratulate you for figuring out this place’s location so quickly after your last “interrogation”. Caught me right off guard you did. If young Findel hadn’t managed to slip away and set off the charges, I could have been in a lot of trouble,” the human wore a smirk.
“But now I guess the boot’s on the other foot, eh captain?”

Wight was shaking his head, almost unable to believe what he was hearing. Eventually he looked up at the human with his impenetrable reflective stare.
“How, Orland? Who told you?”
Orland let out a howl of laughter, “Haha, my dear boy, the only other person who even knew about this operation’s existence of course!”
Wight’s fists clenched so hard that blood began to fleck the ground
“No…”
“Oh but yes! You see, I have a theory. It seems that dear old Colonel Vezax has been manipulating you from the start! Played you off against me safe in the knowledge that the legendary Wolfpack would of course prevail and yet would not quite be able to make it out again alive… I think he’s trying to get us both killed, don’t you?”
Wight’s voice strained in his chest, “I refuse to believe that…”
Orland let out a long sigh, “Oh come on captain! Surely you can see it as clear as I do? Vezax is trying to get rid of the both of us in one neat, easily explainable package. You kill me but die in the process, mission accomplished we’re both dead and all Vezax has to explain is the tragic demise of the Wolfpack who gave their lives valiantly in the line of duty. Amat victoria curam, am I right?”

Wight was shaking uncontrollably now, both him and the Wolfpack looked like they would be willing to ignore the large weapon pointed at them just for the chance to sink their claws into the man who had brought their entire world crashing down around their ears. 3 section wasn’t faring much better themselves. After a second, Wight looked like he had calmed down, his body relaxing and his arms dropping listlessly to his sides. Then he spoke. His voice seemed to have changed yet again, now sounding neither like his old self nor the slightly different version that James had heard earlier that day. This new voice had no warmth, just a cold and calculated hatred that chilled every Basitin’s fur.
“In that case Orland,” he looked up, “I shall go down with my mission complete,” his right hand disappeared behind his back, “I SHALL END YOU!”

Hawk saw the movement first.
“No!!”
He raised his weapon and made as if to move but it was too late; Wight’s hand flicked forward and the long throwing knife spun towards its target, slicing through the air and into Orland’s weapon arm. With a cry he fell to the floor, dropping the launcher and clutching at the wound that was leaking blood onto the floor at a surprising rate. Hawk ran forward to the writhing body but was hit square in the midriff by Wight who was charging towards the stricken human, a bayonet in his outstretched hand. Hawk was knocked across the platform by the captain’s massive power, skidding to a halt just inches from the precipice with all the breath smashed out of him. Captain Wight continued on unimpeded, taking to the air a metre away from Orland and coming crashing down on top of him, the knife plunging up to the hilt in the man’s chest.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl.
“Ah…haha…ha. Fool.”
Orland raised his head to look up at his killer, “Thank you for… fulfilling Vezax’s plan.”
Hawk had regained a sense of himself and now sat up, staring at the two figures on the floor about two meters away. Orland was gazing up intently, his eyes beginning to glaze over with the onset of his demise. What really locked Hawk’s attention however was not the man bleeding out on the floor, instead he was transfixed by the captain crouching in front of him. The scars, the face, all quite unlike the Wight he remembered yet mysteriously so familiar. And the pair of golden eyes staring back. Golden eyes: the most rare of Basitin genes only found in less than half of one per cent of the population. Captain Wight was a rare breed indeed.

He turned back to Orland who was still focusing on him like a bird of prey, his life blood spilling out onto the floor.
“You have doomed everyone captain. You think I would not have prepared for this eventuality? This facility is unique, you see. One of a kind. I knew as soon as Vezax “let slip” that you would be paying me a visit that this entire area would be compromised. Its contents rifled and stolen by the Western powers. I could not allow this to occur. So as a final fail safe, I rigged the entire place to an insurance policy. My life. I had a small device inserted in my chest which detects a heartbeat and sends out a pulse for each one it detects. Those pulses are picked up by a receiver in the main computer terminal. Each one delays the initiation of this fusion generators automated meltdown sequence by ten seconds.”
Orland looked around at the pool of crimson spreading around him,
“Looks like your time is running out.”
Wight fixed him with a look that dripped venom,
“You’re bluffing.”
Orland coughed weakly, “Believe what you want captain, it changes nothing.” He coughed again, “but fear not my boy, this is not your fate. I have something special planned for you.”
He reached into a trouser pocket and retrieved a small device that looked rather like a small remote control only with one solitary button.
“James! Get away from there, it’s not safe!”
Keith was screaming at him but Hawk couldn’t move; he seemed frozen in place by some ethereal force that snared his muscles and rendered him helpless. He couldn’t take his eyes off the remote in Orland’s hand.

With a final smile that showed both resignation and triumph, the human known as Orland grasped the similarly transfixed Wight by the lapel with his left hand and raised the remote with his right so that it interposed between the two of them.
He spoke his last words through gritted teeth,
“Ut sementem feceris, ita metes. See you in hell Keiser,” he said and pressed the button.

[Kaptain]

Hmm... This must be said in a special way. I'm going to type in my exact thoughts. No filter. (This line added after thoughts to ensure maximum freshness of thoughts)
<kaptain thoughts="unfiltered">

...

Da [censored]?!?!?! Oh my god! I can't believe... Keiser!? A basitin betraying his own?! Arolest (love the character)?! And you killed Heller!!! No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Please please PLEASE don't stop writing. It just wouldn't be fair Q.Q

Freaking amazing. Sweet baby Jesus this is one bad [censored] story. Why don't more people read this?!

Ugh! I'm grunting from a lack of words to express my... Grargggugh!!! I don't know what to call it!

This was an AMAZING chapter. THIS is worthy of being a grand finale. Damn that was an awesome chapter.

</kaptain>

Everything in the Kaptain tags was typed first to ensure my initial reaction influenced it and nothing else. But yeah... Simply amazing. I'll have to reread the first chapters though. Since you do chapters monthly (close enough) I'm always forgetting characters.

AMAZING.

[Thallium]

Da [censored]?!?!?! Oh my god! I can't believe... Keiser!? A basitin betraying his own?! Arolest (love the character)?! And you killed Heller!!! No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hehe, I’ve had those little gems brewing in my head for years now. Nice to be able to finally write them down I tell you!

Please please PLEASE don't stop writing. It just wouldn't be fair Q.Q

Don’t worry, there’s no chance of that happening for a looonnnng time.

Freaking amazing. Sweet baby Jesus this is one bad [censored] story. Why don't more people read this?!

I think it’s like most things, starts out small and then reaches a certain point and then suddenly everything accelerates. Think about it: you want to read a story on the 2kinds forums so you click onto the story board (one of the least populated boards by the way). What’s the first story you’re gonna start reading? The one with the most views of course because you know that it must be pretty good to have those view numbers. It’s just a matter of playing the waiting game. I know that I have at least 20 regular readers because the view count jumps up that much within a few days of a new chapter being released so eventually enough views will be accumulated in order for people first coming onto the board to say “must be good, I’ll give it a shot”.

And anyway, if any of you reading this feel like giving me a bit of *ahem* free advertising around the forums I’m not gonna stop you… the more comments (and obviously, not everyone who reads will comment) and views the better after all

This was an AMAZING chapter. THIS is worthy of being a grand finale. Damn that was an awesome chapter.

Thank you, thank you very much!

Since you do chapters monthly (close enough) I'm always forgetting characters.

Yeah sorry about that… what with upcoming exams being the one constant in my life these days I don’t get as much time to write as I would like to. Gotta prioritize after all But fear not! New chapters will always be uploaded… eventually, until everything is finished.

[Thallium]

This may be my last post for a little while as I will be spending the week from the 9th to the 15th in a wood somewhere in Shropshire being shouted at by ex-army types with a lust for blood and a hatred of anyone who hasn’t killed a man. The things you do for advancement in your chosen field eh?

Anyway, I might (on the very off chance) be able to get the next chapter out before I leave in which case huzzah! However, as it is more realistic that I won’t, if I don’t update here again before the 9th then don’t expect anything before the 16th at the very earliest.

It’s the start of a new era in tAoW.
Let’s see just how deep the rabbit warren goes…



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Chapter 9 – Over the Hills and Far Away


???

The fire burned uncontrollably now. It was hungry; feeding off the accumulated sorrow and suffering of generations of lunatics and madmen. Their despair gave it a purpose. It had to destroy EVERYTHING! It tore its way through the main hall and into the lobby area, torching all it touched. The inferno made its way up to the institution proper and blazed through the reception hall, quickly followed by the treatment rooms and the staff kitchen. It was everywhere and its reach was limitless. The Cradle burned.

He had broken out of his cell almost half an hour ago now; tricking the nurse into thinking he was asleep. When she approached with nothing but a kindly face and an outstretched hand, he struck, lunging upwards like a viper and grasping he wrist. He twisted until the bones snapped and she screamed out in agony. Her cries were soon silenced by his teeth sinking into her throat. The nurse had come alone like the foolish girl he knew she was, believing as he had led her to over the past few years that he was docile and calm. How easy the mind is manipulated.

Letting himself out, Schizo paced down the corridor of the Bolshov Ward with the silent precision of one used to taking illegal night-time strolls. The madmen in the adjoining cells howled with glee at the sight, driven to a frenzy by the nurse’s screams and the appearance of one of their own walking free. He smiled at the in turn as he passed. Their time would soon come.

Walking through reception and into the main hall, he spied Alena Szhiganie bent over the fireplace with tinderbox in hand and her nurse minder overseeing all. All but what was behind her that is. With a quick leap and a slice from a sharpened bone he had been working on, the nurse lay dead at their feet, a large blood pool forming around their ankles. Alena looked up, puzzlement and fear displayed in her eyes. He smiled at her
“The [censored] is dead. You are free now my child. They cannot contain you any longer.”

With that he turned and dragged the body into a corner before stalking silently back to Bolshov with a song in his heart for the first time in seven long years. He encountered no one on his way back. The screams of five minutes ago clearly had not penetrated the Ward’s thick stone walls and it was almost bed time anyway; the doctors were all talking in their lounge at the top of the High Tower and most of the rest of the staff were up in the Nursery Tower putting the children to sleep.

As he stepped back into the den of insanity that was the Bolshov Ward, he paused by the first door which had a large number “1” stamped across it and thought about what he should do. Ahh what the hell, this place was going up in flames anyway, might as well give the poor buggers a chance. Using the key he had lifted from the nurse now lying in his cell, Schizo opened the door’s three locks and walked through the portal into a tiny darkened room. All that was visible was a mesh cage and a set of buttons alongside it.

Cell 1 was also known as “extreme isolation” and had been the home of one resident for certainly as long as he had been here. “The King” as he liked to be called was dangerous, so violent in fact that his only human contact was his once weekly sessions with Doctor Bruun under armed guard. For the rest of his time he was locked up here; in a small room at the top of the elevator shaft which stood before Schizo like a lurking geist. Throwing a particular key through the locked mesh of the lift he pressed the button and sent the cage upwards into the far reaches of delusion. It was only a matter of time now.

Returning to his cell and locking the door behind him with his own cell key, the soon-to-be-free madman smiled a wolf’s smile at the thought of the chaos that was about to break loose. The voice had stopped talking an hour ago now, shortly before this had all started. Its last words had been in a hushed whisper that had served as both an encouragement and a warning.
“The outside is within your grasp now; all you have to do is take it! Just don’t forget how you came here. If you play with fire too much, you’ll eventually get burned.”


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He didn’t have to wait long. Within ten minutes a loud, ear-shattering bell began to peel out its warning note.
“Fire! Fire!”
It was one of the doctors who hollered the alarm call, tearing down the Bolshov corridor in the direction of the heat therapy rooms. Schizo pressed his face to the bars of his door in time to see the young man being leapt upon by a hunched figure the moment he passed Cell 1.
The King was free.
The man was lanky and thin from years of malnutrition but his strength was fuelled by hatred and within five seconds the doctor lay dead at his feet, his head practically wrenched off. The King looked up happily, the realisation of freedom crossing his damaged mind for the first time in quite possibly a decade. Mad he may be but The King was perhaps the only one other than himself who the Cradle hadn’t managed to completely dominate in all their long years under its rule. He could still think about the consequences of his actions. The King fumbled through the doctor’s pockets as people began emerging from the Cradle’s various corners, fear driven into them by the tolling bell. He found a large master key on a chain and proceeded to dart between each cell on the Ward in turn with quick, cat-like movements, unlocking each in turn. Now the inmates were running the asylum.

Eventually The King came to Schizo’s door, peering in at the pretend mask of fear on his face. He looked in long and hard while the screams of the free patients and the staff chorused behind him, perhaps trying to drag up a memory from the pit of his mind.
“We all owe you friend,” he said before sliding in the key and giving it a quick twist.

Freedom beckoned. Time to go.

Schizo opened the door and waded into a morass of bodies. The staff were panicking now, their way to the front door blocked by the blaze and the side doors by the escaped patients. They were trapped like, well… inmates in an asylum. The rooms and corridors were beginning to fill with acrid smoke and so the terrified faculty had started to barricade themselves into the only place that offered a modicum of safety. The winding stairs leading to the Nursery Tower. There was no way out for them now, either the fire would claim them or the insanity would.

Through it all, Schizo wandered as if in a dream, pacing past dead bodies and flames as if they didn’t exist. Freedom was all that mattered to him now and if he took the whole place down while he was at it then so much the better. The fact that the Cradle was both an asylum and an orphanage made little difference to him. All must burn.

Suddenly and without realising how he got there he found himself outside, the cold snow crunching beneath him like broken glass. Schizo breathed the air and felt the chill of the wind on his face. After seven years had had forgotten what the real world tasted like. He looked back at his tormentor, now ablaze with cleansing fire and howling cries for mercy and wondered how he had managed to do it. Ah yes of course. Jason had told him. He crunched through the snow, the further the Cradle fell behind the more of himself he could feel being remembered until with a surge of memory he recalled the entirety of his past, who he was, what he did, why he was here…everything.

He kept walking for another few minutes or so before he encountered the first few villagers rushing to the scene from the nearby town. They all stared at him like he was a ghost floating on the wind before shivering and tuning back towards the stricken asylum, nothing but fear in their hearts. One man was different however. He was tall and wore the tradition furs of the fishermen here but had the notable addition of a badge on his left breast. It depicted a star, hammer, and sickle surrounded by a red background. He was the local Communist Party leader. He stopped in front of Schizo and reached out to steady him, swaying as he was from a mixture of giddy excitement and hypothermia.

“Who are you? What is your name?” he asked in thickly accented Russian.
Schizo looked up at the man, noting the concern and fear in his eyes. Who was he now? He remembered but what he recalled was no good to him now. The person he had been was dead. A new one needed to be born. He panned back in his mind for something suitable, endless conversations swirling through his mind in a vortex of half remembered thought and memory. Suddenly it clicked. He called up one of his sessions with Doctor Bruun, replaying it in his mind’s eye. Bruun had always had a thing for him; his “special” patient. He had thrown many insults at him during his time however he would never forget one particular line that Bruun had said not long after he first arrived at the asylum so long ago.
“You’re a monster you know. Don’t you? A filthy degenerate with no purpose and no life left but what we give you. Oh don’t worry, we’ll get you sane again… or kill you trying.”
From that time on, Bruun had had a name for him. `Monster`, although it was not that word that the doctor used to describe him.

He looked back at the party leader, a slow smile spreading across his face. He put two and two together in his mind: a first name he had been talking to these last seven years and a last that the good Doctor Bruun had so kindly given him.
“Hehe, my name,” he replied in accented Russian, “My name is Jason Wight.”



----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

???

He remembered seeing… a flash of light, a brilliant beam spreading out from Orland’s hand that engulfed the three of them in its lustrous glow. He had watched Orland’s face, a grin of triumph upon it before it and the bewitched captain standing immobile before him were both lost amid the shining blaze of pure white light radiating from every corner of his vision. The light reached him and he could feel it welling up inside, taking over and consuming him before it dissipated as quickly as it had arrived, to be replaced by blackness and apathy. At the time he had been scared, afraid of what was happening but now he cared for absolutely nothing at all. He was lost upon time’s swirling vortex.

And now what? Where was he now? Hawk could feel solid ground beneath him but his mind was still only half there and he couldn’t open his eyes to check his surroundings. Nothing hurt but every cell in his body buzzed with energy as if charged by some unearthly static. After many minutes of lying there, he felt his mind beginning to coalesce and flow back to him, filling the empty spaces with its soothing light and restoring some of his faculties to him. Suddenly he remembered what Orland had said.
“Keiser…”
Hawk’s eyes flashed open, casting around him for the sign of something or someone familiar. But there was nothing. The world he looked out upon was devoid of people: His best friend, Orland, 3 section… Keiser.
Nothing.
It took him a moment to see the most glaring change though
“…Where the hell am I?”
He gazed at his surroundings, his heart beating faster every second. He definitely wasn’t in Sangin anymore.

The terrain in front of him was not that of a sandy desert or even anything remotely familiar for that matter. Instead, a dark red landscape devoid of anything resembling life stretched out as far as the eye could see, the barren expanse punctuated only by occasional towering columns of rock of the same dusky red hue. It was like Hawk had been transported from the underground cavern and straight to Mars. Raising himself shakily to his paws, Hawk took stock of his increasingly dire looking situation. He was alone, in a place that didn’t look like it was on Earth let alone somewhere where he could summon help. His section had disappeared along with the Wolfpack and worst of all: he had just found out that Alpha Prime was, if Orland’s dying words were to be believed, not in fact Captain Jason Wight but actually a legendary hero from the annals of an almost forgotten past.
Master General Keith Cornelius Keiser.
The thought was incomprehensible to Hawk; Keiser had been missing for so long that everyone had simply presumed he was dead, if not by the acts of mortals then by the infinite reach of time itself. The real Keiser should be in his 90s by now and yet the man he knew as Wight looked not a day over 35. It was impossible to comprehend that the two were one and the same. And yet… why would Orland lie?

His mental battle between reason and facts was interrupted by a noise behind him. With a snarl, Hawk whirled around; a hand reaching for the Burrick still sheathed on his back and faced the discord to his rear. About ten meters away paced what looked like a large hyena, its fur the same red colour of the surrounding earth. It was about half the height of Hawk himself and was stalking steadily forward with head bent low to the ground, eyes staring intently at him. Eyes hungry for blood. With a brief yowl, the hyena charged, darting left and right on its approach in order to keep its prey off balance. Hawk was not fooled but it however; finally a chance to put the Du’hadrin’s CQB training to practise! He crouched low, awaiting the hyena’s spring which duly came. At the last minute before it would have barrelled straight into him, the hyena jumped to the right and the then surged upwards with claws outstretched towards his face. Hawk let it come, waiting until the creature was practically on top of him before suddenly letting his knees buckle while his sword arm came up in a flash, piercing the animal in its torso and letting it sail over his rapidly descending head. He fell to the ground and rolled away, coming up quickly and spinning to face his opponent once again. It was not necessary however for the hyena had not risen from where it had fell, the Burrick transfixing it like a kebab.

Hawk approached carefully, wary that the creature might not be truly dead yet and merely acting to lull him into slashing range. He had struck true however as the blade had drilled straight through its chest and cleaved its heart in two, killing it instantly. He withdrew the Burrick, wiping the blood from its surface on the already red fur of the slain hyena. Then he heard something that made his blood run cold. From behind he heard not just one yowl but several. He turned slowly, dreading what he would see. Sure enough, an entire pack of the hyena-things was advancing on him, the scent of recently spilled blood in their nostrils. Hawk backed up, his mind racing through his options. His rifle was nowhere to be seen and the Pegasus mission had stipulated absolutely no explosives so he had no grenades to call upon either. His only weapons were his sword and bayonet while his only protection was his Kevlar vest which would be no help whatsoever against a pack of blood thirsty Hyaenidae.
End of the line.

Hawk steeled himself for his end, dropping into a low defensive position and focusing his mind, preparing to take as many of them with him as he could. The pack advanced, teeth gnashing together in the anticipation of tearing him apart. The biggest of the group who could only be the pack’s leader bent low and sniffed the air for a moment before rising up and giving a yowl of triumph, pelted towards the Basitin like a small freight train on its way to Hell. The rest followed, each adding to the clamour with their own growls for blood. They were close now, almost within striking distance and Hawk prepared to give his final blow to the pack boss before they fell atop him. As the pacesetter was about to lunge a small crack could be heard and suddenly the hyena lurched to the side as if struck an invisible blow, blood pouring from a bullet wound to its head. Hawk cast around frantically but could find no sign of the shooter, yet within a moment several more cracks sounded and yet more of the pack fell to the stinging accuracy of the invisible marksman. Within a few seconds the horde had been reduced in number to just a few individuals who quickly realised the situation was well beyond their control and fled, their tails quite literally between their legs.

Hawk stood down, keeping a wary eye on his surroundings for any sign of his saviour while sheathing his Burrick and checking that his remaining equipment was all in place.
“It seems-” said a voice from directly behind him, “-Dorothy that we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
He whirled around to face the speaker and stared open mouthed. Standing before him, looking exactly the same as he did in all the history books, all the TV clips was none other the General Keith Keiser himself. Orland, it seemed, had been telling the truth. There he stood in his desert uniform, captain’s rank slide across his chest and wolf emblem on his shoulder, looking exactly the same has he had done that morning when Hawk had seen Wight change so strangely in appearance. How had he not seen it before? The scars, the eyes now perfectly visible without the sunglasses, the colour of his fur, even his voice. Hawk knew them all instinctively as every Basitin did from their first few birthdays. And yet how had he missed it? How had he not been able to piece the mystery together when he first saw it? How had he not been able to see who Captain Wight really was?

He tried to speak but he couldn’t, the emotional weight of the last few hours pressing down and rendering him unable to even think of a coherent sentence let alone formulate the appropriate words. The messiahs return; and he had been one of the first to witness it. Keiser strode past, pressing a pistol into Hawks trembling hands
“For if we encounter more of those beasts,” he said in a monotone.
Hawk turned round, “W-w-why?”
Keiser stopped
“Why is not important. Right now, all that matters is that we get out of here before those creatures come back in greater numbers. Come quickly or I shall leave you here.”
With that the once General prowled off, his form growing gradually fainter amidst the dusty rock. James Hawk gathered himself, holstered his pistol and ran off in pursuit of the disappearing figure. There was no way he was letting this opportunity get away from him.
The man was supposed to be dead after all.





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For those of you in the know (and crying “plagiarism!”) and for those of you not in the know (who aren’t crying anything), the whole concept of “The Cradle” is not my own work but is in fact my tribute to quite possibly the best level in videogame history. If you haven’t played the “Thief” games, I recommend you close down your internet and purchase them all immediately, and if you have then I think you know what I mean.

An “asylum” was always planned for this story yet originally it was to be something I made up entirely. However, before writing the last chapter I was replaying Thief 3 and of course found my way into the Shalebridge Cradle. Holy gods but that place is terrifying! Thus when writing the flash back sections of Wolverines! I could not think of a better concept to portray the kind of creepy atmosphere I was looking for then the asylum that was both a home for madmen and an orphanage… at the exact same time. If that isn’t a concept that scares the bejesus out of you then you are a strange, strange person my friend.

Anyway, this is my tribute to the scariest level in history and you’ll definitely be seeing it again in the far distant future (those of you who have played it can probably have a guess at what might be going on there…)
Come to think of it, I’m plagiarising someone else’s IP in the next chapter too… here’s hoping I don’t get sued (don’t worry, it won’t happen again!)

[Kaptain]

Used to watch my grandmother play Thief. I wanted to play so bad but she wouldn't let me :p I wonder if Thief will run on windows XP. Or 7. What were you running it on?

Story time.

Is the cradle tidbit actually part of the story? Was Keith locked away as a madman? (Keith: I got better...) Or is it simply an awesome side story full of symbolism that my peasant brain can't grasp? Either way, yay! They aren't dead! More reading for me =^_^= woot!

[Thallium]

1) You have an incredible grandmother

2) You might be able to get 1 and 2 working if you're lucky or have a bit of tech knowledge (I really don't...) but 3 (the one with the Shalebridge Cradle in it) only came out in 2004 so that one will definatly work on whatever you've got.

3) Yes, the Cradle flashbacks are absolutely cannon. Their symbolism is whatever you choose it to be...

4)

Keith: I got better...

Hehe....... that's what you think.

[Alleycat]

I'm only in the middle of the second page, and I'm already loving it!

Was Vezax the other cookie btw?

[Thallium]

Glad you're enjoying it m8, just hope you're up for looong chapters. You've got a 10k word one coming up soon

Was Vezax the other cookie btw?

Wow....thats a call-back. Yes, yes he was.
Was it just the name or my fantastic riddle that gave it away?

[Kaptain]

Vezax sounds familiar... Sounds like something from C&C or Starcraft :/

And 10000?! lolwut?

Wait, if you know the word count... You must be done/almost done with it! -menacing glare- Don't want to wait until the 17th.

ALSO -- Ah mah gawd another person is commenting! The worlds burning around me! Oh nevermind, it's just the microwave.

hot pocket

[Alleycat]

General Vezax, though I'll be shot before I remember where it's from. Also I can't wait . I'm a veracious reader and this story is amazing satisfying.