Free High Moor by Graeme Reynolds Page B

twenty klicks from our objective when we heard all hell breaking loose. There was a fire fight going down a few kilometres northwest of our position. It didn’t last long. The woods echoed with automatic weapons fire for maybe four or five minutes and then just stopped. The Sarge thought we should do a recon to see what was going on. The bulk of the fighting was a few hundred kilometres to the east, based on our last intel. Last thing we wanted to do was walk smack into a major offensive. We were going to get in, check it out, and if it looked like things were going to get hairy, then we’d get the fuck out of there and scratch the mission.
    “It took us a couple of hours to make our way there. We took it slow and careful, making sure that no one could get the drop on us. It was Tino that found them in the end. A squad of Krauts; eight or nine of them, torn to shreds. Hell, I don’t think there was any part of the poor sons of bitches left that was bigger than a football. There were plenty of empty shell cases lying around, but they were all German. No other bodies and no evidence of weapons damage on the corpses. Put the fear of God into us, I can tell ya.”
    Carl paused, reached for his handgun and clicked the safety off. Steven opened his mouth to speak. Carl shook his head. A twig snapped, off to their right. Both men raised their weapons, hardly daring to breathe. A badger shuffled from the undergrowth and regarded the two men with curious eyes, then continued on its way.
    “Jesus, that thing scared the shit out of me,” said Carl. “Where was I, oh yeah. We’d found the bodies and were on the verge of freaking out. The Sarge put a stop to that right away. Told us to get our heads back in the game. We moved out, weapons ready, back into the woods towards our objective. That was when the howling started.
    “Now, I grew up on a ranch, and while wolves were pretty rare, I’d still come across one or two in my time. Loners that came down from the mountains, looking for food. Those howls didn’t sound like any wolf I ever heard. There were at least three of them, to the north, south, and east of our position. We headed west, never thinking that they were driving us that way.
    “They took the Sarge out first. He was bringing up the rear when he was hit. He got a couple of rounds off before the thing bit his fucking head clean off. In the darkness, all we could see was a big black shadow tearing into him. Tino opened up on it, but he might as well have been firing blanks. The bastard just ignored him and carried on ripping the Sarge to ribbons. The moon came out then, and I got a good look at the thing. It looked like a wolf, but much bigger. The size of a fucking grizzly. That was when the others attacked. They came running at us through the trees. The guys rained bullets at them, but they didn’t even slow down. I’m ashamed to say that my nerve broke, and I ran. After a minute, the shooting stopped and the screaming started. After a while, the screaming stopped as well.
    “I ran all night. I heard them howling, out there in the dark, but they never came too close. To this day, I have no idea why. All I know is that I came out of the forest into a village around midday; exhausted, dehydrated, and raving like a lunatic about monsters in the woods. Then I passed out, and the next thing I remember was waking up a couple of days later.”
    The sporadic birdsong within the forest was now a chorus. The first weak rays of the sun filtered through the branches, banishing the pre-dawn chill in the air. Steven had never seen a more welcome sight.
    “I reckon it’s safe to get down now,” said Carl.
    Steven raised an eyebrow. “Probably.”
    The two men laughed and clambered down to the forest floor, to the remains of their platform and the rest of their equipment. Carl sifted through the wreckage and swore as he retrieved his hunting rifle.
    “The scope's got water in it, and the barrel's out of kilter. Ain't gonna