The Werewolf of Marines Trilogy Read online

  THE WEREWOLF OF MARINES TRILOGY

  Book 1: Semper Lycanus

  Book 2: Patria Lycanus

  Book 3: Pax Lycanus

  Jonathan P. Brazee

  Copyright © 2016 Jonathan Brazee

  Semper Fi Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Acknowledgements:

  I would like to thank first my editors, Anne Gentilucci, for Semper Lycanus, John Baker for Patria Lycanus, and Sherry Lane Dixon for Pax Lycanus. They each made me a better writer with their insights and keen eye for detail. I need to thank Ross Moore for keeping me from making too many mistakes with regards to Marine Recon. Ross deployed to Iraq with 3d Reconnaissance Battalion in 2005, and his recon differed greatly from my recon when I served in the battalion back in 1982. I took a few liberties with the recon mission, but Ross was able to keep me basically on course. I also need to thank Ruben Rodriguez, William Nelson, Christopher Roberts, Bill Underhill, and TJ Curtis from the 03-US Marine Corps Infantry Facebook group for their assistance on military life in Afghanistan, to Mundiya, FDB, and Arsham in the Wordrefernce.com forum, and Marwat, Happy Khan, and Smarty from the Pashtunformums.com for their assistance with the Pashto language. And finally, most importantly, I need to thank my readers, both those in my mailing list and who have offered suggestions as I write and those who’ve simply bought and (I hope) enjoyed my musings. All remaining typos and inaccuracies are solely my fault.

  BOOK 1

  SEMPER LYCANUS

  INFECTION

  Chapter 1

  “Fuck Teri Brubaker and the horse she rode in on,” Private First Class Aiden Kaas muttered to himself.

  This had become his mantra anytime he regretted signing on the dotted line, and that was pretty much all the time, 24/7. She was the one he’d been trying to impress, not that she’d even noticed. It had been his choice to enlist, but he put the blame entirely on her.

  He gave a little half-jump, jerking his shoulders up as he tried to adjust his ILBE[1] for the umpteenth time. The Improved Load Bearing Equipment was the Marine Corps’ version of the MOLLE[2] used by the Army, but to Aiden, it was anything but improved. It never seemed to hang right, and he struggled in the stifling Iraqi heat carrying the 80 pounds of ammo, food, water, and explosives stuffed inside and hanging off of it. The sun was getting low in the horizon, but there had been no let up in the temperature, and he was about wrung dry.

  “Keep up, Kaas,” Sgt Rickman hissed. “Get your ass in gear, or I swear I’ll leave you out here for the hajjis.”

  “Fuck you, too,” Aiden whispered, careful not to say it loud enough for his squad leader to hear.

  Frankly, Aiden was afraid of the big Alabama sergeant. Sgt Rickman had never actually laid hands on him, but his presence loomed over the smaller PFC, effectively cowing him. He hurried forward a few steps, closing the gap between him and Snake, the Marine directly in front of him.

  The squad slowly made its way up the dusty street in the nameless Iraqi town outside of Fallujah. Aiden didn’t really know their mission. It was clearing a building so a sniper team could use it as a hide for an upcoming operation, but he never listened when the operations orders were given, so the whys and wherefores went right over his head. He just assembled where he was told, took the load given to him, and went where directed. He was a pack mule, nothing more, and not a very good one. Sgt Rickman was probably carrying 180 pounds on his back, and the least anyone else was carrying was probably 130 pounds. The other Marines had learned a long time ago that Aiden just didn’t have the capability to carry much more than his 80-pound load, although most of the Marines thought he had the capability, just not the willingness.

  As he trudged in trace of Snake, he let his mind wander back to Las Vegas, back to Teri. He hated her with a passion he rarely exhibited for anything else, yet she was constantly on his mind. She’d be getting up about now, taking a long shower—he lingered over that image in his mind—having breakfast, and getting ready to go to UNLV for morning classes. He wondered whom she was dating now, who would be taking her out this weekend, who would be taking her to bed.

  “Shit, Kaas, watch where you’re going,” Snake snarled as Aiden bumped into him.

  He’d zoned out while thinking of his nemesis and hadn’t noticed they’d stopped. He’d walked right up Snake’s back. They were at their objective, a four story building that had been previously selected as the snipers’ hide. They would clear the building, then leave the five-man sniper team there to do whatever it was that snipers did.

  He leaned up against the wall that made the outer courtyard in front of the building, trying to take the load off his aching feet and back. Up ahead, LCpl Reggie D’Amato was getting ready to bash in the gate with a battering ram. D’Amato really got into this stuff. He was the embodiment the term “gung ho.” Anytime there was a mission, anytime there was risk, he’d be jumping up, hand in the air to volunteer. He’d even been shot in the arm, but refused evacuation, preferring to recover at camp so he could rejoin the squad.

  Aiden thought he was a moron. Who in his right mind would give up a free ticket back home? He could probably even get discharged, maybe score a VA disability check for the rest of his life. But no, he wanted to play soldier in this godforsaken place.

  D’Amato bashed the gate open, and Second Fire Team[3] slipped into the courtyard. Aiden would rather have blown the door. It was more dangerous and announced their intentions, but if they blew it, Sgt Rickman might have used a couple of pounds of the C-4[4] Aiden was lugging around in his assault pack. He pushed his helmet back and wiped his forehead, wishing Cpl Douglas would hurry up and get the courtyard cleared.

  It actually only took a minute or so before First Fire Team, which was part of the assault element entered. The rest of the team rushed up to the front wall of the home, backs up against it. Aiden did more of a shuffle, joining the others in his own time.

  D’Amato was at it again. He had tried the front door, but it was locked, and the smile on his face was evident as he unlimbered his battering ram again. Aiden thought the guy was going to have an orgasm as he swung the ram, breaking the door right off its hinges.

  Clearing a building was a violent ballet, with people moving in a choreographed dance, shouting out certain phrases. That was the training, at least. And while the other Marines and even the corpsman did their part, calls of “coming in right,” and “clear” echoing throughout the first floor, Aiden was silent as he followed in behind Snake, his M16[5] pointed at the floor. In four months of the deployment, in at least a dozen fire-fights, he’d never even fired his rifle. He figured that if the bad guys were shooting at them, they’d aim at the Marines who were actively engaged, not the quiet guy in the back.

  The first floor was typical of the Iraqi homes. There was a small room in the front, then a hallway stretched to the back of the house branching off into separate rooms. This house looked like it had been abandoned for quite some time with most of the furnishings long gone, so clearing the bottom floor went quickly. He followed Snake, Wilson, and Cpl Ruddy, his fire team leader as they cleared two of the rooms on the left side of the hallway. Technically, as a rifleman, he should have led as point into each room, but that had died by the waysi
de back in workups at Pendleton[6] and 29 Palms,[7] and he was shunted aside, LCpl Steve Wilson taking his place.

  That was fine with Aiden. Even if there were no mujahideen hiding out in a room, there could still be booby traps, so he was completely happy to let Wilson be the first one in. It was pretty difficult to be a wallflower in combat, but Aiden was giving it his best shot.

  They moved over to the stairwell leading up to the next floor. First Fire Team was going to lead the way up, then hold the hall up there while Second cleared the rooms. Wilson edged up the stairs, one step at a time, M16 pointed up as he watched for any sign of movement, anything like a grenade bouncing down to meet them.

  A grenade would probably reach Aiden, bouncing past the others to explode at his feet, so it would have been prudent for him to pay attention. His mind was wandering, again, though. Something about the steps reminded him of the stairs leading up to Teri’s home, the second story apartment she shared with her parents and sister. The Vegas sun had been brutally hot that late afternoon, just like the Iraqi sun. He hadn’t been wearing full battle gear, of course, but he had been sweating under his rented tuxedo just the same. His sense of anxiety had been the same there, too. He hadn’t thought he would go to prom, but when Teri Brubaker asked him, he couldn’t believe his luck. Things like this didn’t happen to him. He had tried to check his breath, breathing into his cupped hand over his face. He wiped his left hand on his sky blue trousers, then transferred the corsage to his left and wiped his right before ringing the doorbell.

  It wasn’t Teri who’d answered, though. It was Ben Souter, dressed to kill in his black and yellow tuxedo.

  “What do you want?” he asked, a smirk plastered on his face.

  Aiden had started to panic. Ben was a jock, a school A-lister. More importantly, he was on-again, off-again with Teri.

  “I, uh, I . . .”

  “Out with it, dipwad,” Ben prompted.

  “I’m here for Teri,” he stammered out.

  “Hey Teri! That creep from school, Kaas is here. He says he’s here for you,” Ben called out.

  It was only then that Aiden had noticed Teri in the front room of the apartment. Several other A-list couples were there, along with Teri’s little sister Chloe. All of them seemed to be trying to hold in laughter.

  “Aiden, what are you doing here?” Teri asked.

  Despite his sense of foreboding and growing panic, he couldn’t help but notice just how beautiful Teri was, in her long yellow gown—the same shade as Ben’s jacket. Tall and slender, her face framed by her short brown hair, she was simply the prettiest girl he’d thought he’d ever seen.

  “I’m, I, well, I’m here to take you to prom,” he got out.

  “Why would you be doing that? You know Ben and I are a couple,” she asked innocently, Ben looking over her shoulder.

  Matt Keller broke out in a laugh behind her at that, but stopped when Avery Booth smacked his arm.

  “You asked me to prom, last Thursday, in World History,” he said, his voice barely audible.

  “You thought I asked you to prom? I think you misunderstood. Everyone knows I’m going with Ben. I asked you who you were taking, not if you would take me.”

  That had stopped Aiden for a moment. Could he have been mistaken? No, she had asked him, even told him what time to pick her up.

  “You think she would ask you?” Ben asked, his voice dripping with scorn.

  “I . . . I . . .” was all he could say.

  “‘I . . . I . . . ’spit it out there,” Ben said, mimicking him.

  He looked up at Teri, hoping against hope that she would rescue him. She had an angelic smile on her face, but her eyes had a glint of something else, something more cruel. Behind her, the others were trying hard not to laugh. Even 14-year-old Chloe was in on it, holding her hand over her mouth.

  He had to get out of there. He wheeled around and ran to the stairs, taking them two at a time. In back of him, suppressed laughter rang out, chasing him down the stairs and out into the sun where his mother waited in the Grand Am, his chauffeur for the evening.

  “What the fuck, Kaas, get off my ass,” Cpl Ruddy hissed and gave him a shove, breaking his reverie.

  Aiden shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He had to watch it. His tendency to drift off hadn’t gotten him hurt yet, but this was a combat mission, and he needed to focus on what he was doing.

  Up above him, Wilson and Snake reached the next floor. Aiden followed Cpl Ruddy, and then all four of them stopped and covered Second Team as they passed through them to check the first room on the left. A moment later, Aiden heard the expected “clear, coming out,” as the team exited and moved to the next room down the hall and on the right. Cpl Ruddy moved his team past the door on the left to be positioned to give better cover to Second.

  Aiden glanced into the cleared room. It was empty of furniture, but a pile of trash was pushed up against the near wall. None of his team was paying attention to him, so he quietly stepped inside. He’d done this before. He’d “seen something,” or “heard something” that needed to be checked out. If that got him out of a potential line of fire, all the better.

  He placed his M16 on the deck, barrel up against the wall, taking off his helmet and wiping his scalp. Sgt Rickman was hell on being in complete battle gear, so this was his first opportunity to take it off. He wasn’t sure if the sweat or the itching was worse, but he was glad to get his helmet off for a moment.

  Sixty-three days and a wake-up, he thought to himself. Then he could get out of this place. After he was back at Pendleton, it was only then he’d start to think of how he could shorten his enlistment. He wouldn’t do anything crazy. He wanted that Honorable Discharge, and he still had daydreams of walking around in his dress blues, having Teri see him, and then fall to her knees apologizing for treating him like that. He’d be cool, of course, letting her see he was being magnanimous . . .

  A slight noise outside the broken window snapped his daydream. It was probably just a bird, he told himself. Regardless, he reached down and picked up his weapon. He looked back out the door to the hallway. He could hear that another room was cleared. The whole building was obviously abandoned, so he thought they should leave it to the sniper team to do their own dirty work. Let them find any booby traps.

  Another soft sound caught his attention. He swung back to look out the window. Despite himself, he took a hesitant step forward. He wanted to call out to Cpl Ruddy, but something made him keep going, stopping a foot or so in front of what had once been a window. All that was left of the glass was a few broken shards.

  It was generally a bad idea to stand in front of any window in Iraq, a rule Aiden always followed. Enemy snipers had a habit of making people pay for those kinds of mistakes. Yet Aiden couldn’t back off, he couldn’t stand down. He had to see what was out there.

  He took one more step and slowly leaned out the window.

  His eyes saw the huge shape hanging there, but his mind refused to recognize it. A hairy hand, more of a paw, reached up and closed around his throat, cutting off his air. With its other arm, the creature, for lack of a more precise term, pulled itself up and into the room, still clutching Aiden’s throat and lifting him to dangle two feet up off the floor.

  Aiden’s M16 clattered to the concrete floor as he reached up to grab the hand slowly squeezing the life out of him. He might as well have been pulling on the arm of a statue. He could feel himself starting to go, he could feel the panic set in as he struggled. He kicked out with his foot, impacting on something solid, but the grip on his throat never slackened.

  All the time, he stared at the face in front of him. At first, he thought a gorilla had gotten loose from a zoo or something. But the fangs on the thing, the muzzle that reached out to him, no gorilla ever sported anything like that. As things got dim, he could have sworn the thing spoke to him, but in what sounded like Arabic. None of it made sense. He was going to die in Iraq, like so many others, but by something out of a nightmare.
The grey spots in front of his eyes got larger, and Aiden knew he was about to go under. An agonizing, piercing pain in his shoulder almost brought him to when miles and miles away, the sounds of firing barely registered in his mind. He fell to the hard floor of the room, the pressure off his throat. The firing onslaught continued, but all he could do was gasp for air. Feet pounded by him and voices shouted excitedly. Hands grabbed him and pulled him to a sitting position.

  “Kaas, you OK?” Doc Mainz asked, hands already probing his shoulder.

  The pain cleared his head, and with a shout, he pushed the corpsman’s hands away.

  “Geez, Doc, take it easy!”

  “Hey, I gotta check this. What happened? That dude bite you?”

  “I don’t know. What the fuck just happened?” he asked.

  Clustered over him were both fire teams, pushing to look out of the window.

  “Fucking A, he took my full mag,” Snake was saying, looking down at something, his SAW at the ready.

  “He took more than that. We all emptied on him,” Dontrell Jordan from Second Team said, peering down and out the window.

  Aiden pushed Doc away with his good right arm and stood up. He had to see. Eight or nine Marines were clustered at the window, but he managed to worm his way in between them. He looked down to see who or what had almost killed him. In the courtyard below, the naked body of a man lay sprawled. It was riddled with bullet wounds, maybe fifty all told, enough so that they should have torn his body apart. But he looked surprisingly whole. He was dead, no doubt about that, but despite his being naked, he looked like any other Iraqi, nothing special. No fangs, no hairy paws.

  Aiden’s world closed in as he went out cold.

  Chapter 2