Chapter 17
We owned the night.
The other side was tenacious and damn tough. The nefarious bastards were in it to win it. That just meant that we had to kill more of them before they got scared.
Travis was a wrecking ball. It turned out that Bullmen were extremely robust. Their hide is nearly impenetrable, and they heal at an astounding rate. Not as quick as a lycanthrope, mind you, but one day Travis could soak up half a mag from an AK-47, and the next he’d be anxious to go out again. He did get shot a lot, though, because he wasn’t very fast and was too damn big to make very effective use of cover. We had to keep him way ahead of the vulnerable mortals of first squad, because Travis tended to fly into fits of rage. Charlie began to tell campfire stores about him, as something that translated roughly into “Furious Water Buffalo.”
Sharon was a surprise. Singer was her assigned name, and she’d received it because of her talent. Her father had been a sailor. Her mother had been a siren. That particular relationship had worked out better than normal, with the sailor not being drowned then eaten, and Sharon had been the result, brought back to human civilization and raised to be a civilized young lady. That had mostly worked out, until the government had decided that a half-siren still belonged on the PUFF list.
Ironically, she’d never hurt a fly until the government had helped her find that side of herself. Though she was far stronger than a human, she was not as tough as me or our Texas Longhorn Furious Water Buffalo, but the girl was a terror of a different kind. Her song haunted the jungle. She could get into a man’s mind and twist it so that you couldn’t see straight. Sentries were unaware, patrols got sloppy, and no man could withstand her interrogations. All she had to do was bat her eyelashes a few times, say a few words, and the prisoners would spill their guts. She didn’t even speak the language.
We had to bring on a local from the ARVN to translate. His name was Van. Destroyer had worked with him once before, and said he spoke just about every dialect in the region. His French was better than his English, and his English was better than mine. I was surprised how young he was, but he proved valuable, and the kid was hilarious.
We were very effective. The humans of first squad were as good a bunch of soldiers as I’d ever met. Destroyer was a consummate professional. Even while riding in the close confines of a chopper, sitting across from a hunched-over Travis, disguised only by being covered in a big blanket, the man didn’t ask any questions. He got us in, covered our butts, and got us out. The two of us were never friendly. Destroyer obeyed orders and didn’t talk much. I don’t think he liked the assignment or me.
Conover was a far better leader than expected. He actually cared about everyone under his command. He was one of those rare leaders with real integrity, and after having been recruited for a few of these black operations over the decades, I was thankful we’d ended up with somebody like him. If he hadn’t stayed with the government after the war, I would have loved to have recruited him to MHI. He would have made a superb team lead.
As for me…I led the actual missions in the field. Nobody had more experience than me. First squad thought of me as just another human, only one extraordinarily good at stealth and jungle fighting, though I think Destroyer suspected I was something more akin to the blanket-wearing giant and the nearly glowing goddess that forced them to wear earplugs. Three nights a month I was lowered into a pit, and then Travis covered the top with something heavy. Even in a war, there are certain things that shouldn’t be done, not if you want to be able to tell yourself that you’re the good guy.
That would soon change.
* * *
Heather stopped at her front door to remove her heavy gloves in order to manipulate the keys. A lot of the older folks in Copper Lake didn’t even bother to lock their doors, but she knew what the actual stats were. Even their small town had enough tweakers to really run up the property-crime numbers. Like every other rural part of the country, there were meth labs out there, and when there was meth, there was thievery. If she was lucky maybe the werewolves would eat some of those scumbags and OD from the chemical cocktail in their blood. It would be like killing two birds with one stone.
There was a series of pops. She froze, listening. “You hear that?”
Harbinger looked around. “Nope. I feel like I’m deaf.” Despite having thrown an old leather coat over his weird armor suit, his teeth were chattering.
“Gunshots…” There was the slamming of a car door, the roar of an engine, the spinning of tires. “That SUV is turning around.” A sudden fear hit. It must be the two government men. They’d murdered Chase earlier, and now they were coming back to finish her.
“Get inside,” Harbinger ordered.
Heather found her house key and got the door open just as the returning headlights illuminated the front yard. Harbinger followed her inside and closed the door behind them.
Startled, Otto began barking in the kitchen. To his credit, the German shepherd was ready to repel intruders. Her dog was just a shadow as he moved through the living room, shoulders hunched, head low. “Easy, boy,” Heather said. “It’s just me.” The barking ceased. Otto stopped, tilting his head, confused. It was like he didn’t recognize her in the dark. He barred his teeth and growled. “Calm down, big dummy.” The German shepherd got closer, snarling. Then Heather realized she could smell Otto’s fear. He was scared of her.
Peeking through the blinds, Harbinger studied the road. “Hmm…I don’t know who this is. You know ’em?”
Otto was her pet, her loyal companion, but right then he was prepared to go for her throat. Otto may have only had three legs, but he was still an intimidating eighty pounds of Purina-fed muscle. “Harbinger, my dog doesn’t recognize me.”
He didn’t turn from the window. “I should’ve told you. Animals fear us. Dogs especially hate our guts. I hope you’re not into horseback riding.”
Not Otto. He’d been a loyal friend forever. She loved Otto. There was no way. She reached out one hand, but Otto’s brave growl turned into a whimper, and he scrambled for the kitchen, tail between his legs. It broke her heart. “Otto?”
“What’re these assholes doing? Wait. One fella is getting out. Guns. Get down!” Harbinger grabbed her by the sleeve and jerked her to the floor just as the window shattered. Heather hit the carpet hard. There was a crackling noise as a machine gun raked bullets through the walls. Splinters and drywall rained down on them as the gun thundered.
Harbinger rolled on top of her protectively, a purely instinctive move, but asinine since he was only human and therefore not much better than a meat sandbag. “Crawl! Get to cover!” he shouted in her ear before rolling off, raising his Thompson and firing back through the window. He was answered with even more fire, but Heather was already scrambling for the kitchen. She’d just reached the linoleum when the bullet struck. The impact hit like a baseball bat and took her leg right out from under her. Heather shouted in surprise and fell on her face.
It took a second to realize that she’d been hit. She’d never been shot before. It burned. Rolling over, she grabbed her calf and felt the blood pouring between her fingers. The kitchen cupboards were flying apart, so she tried to become one with the floor.
Harbinger had heard her cry. Rising, still shooting, he backpedaled until he reached the kitchen and took cover in the doorway. “You hit?”
“I’m okay” she responded, but as she spoke, the burning sensation mutated into the worst pain ever. “Oh shit! No, I’m not. My leg!”
Bullets still flying, Harbinger came to her, and Heather almost passed out when he touched her leg, grabbing it roughly in the dark. His hands were firm as he probed the wound. Heather shrieked as her severed nerve endings fired. The pain flipped a switch deep inside. Something deep within Heather awoke. She gasped, but it wasn’t because of the gunshot wound.
“Artery ain’t hit. Keep pressure on it,” he ordered. “And stay down.”
“No kidding!” Heather shouted as the microwave exploded.
Then Harbinger was just gone. He may have only been human, but he was fast.