A werewolf in a time of the Shambler Plague – working title
I was in the crew commander hatch of the Stryker as we drew up on the small draw. Our small convoy appeared to be a perfect target for the local bandits.
I sniffed. The wind was blowing toward us, and with my enhanced senses, I could smell the harsh smell of cigarettes and unwashed bodies. I sighed.
You'd think these guys would learn, ya know?
I clicked my throat Mike. "TJ, you're up."
"He's already suited up, Skipper" replied Sparks. 1Lt William Sparks had been our S-4, back when we had a battalion.
TJ bounded by, 150 pounds of Kevlar covered black wolf. He went on point, like a bird dog, at three rock falls. I laughed. "T-square, you see them?" I asked.
"Roj" was his laconic reply. He had the Black Crow Turret on single shot. I ducked into the vehicle. Even with my healing factor, the bark of the .50 was no joke.
No sooner had the hatch shut, as T-square, Spec4 Thomas Turner, put three well aimed single shots into the rock piles. All three blossomed in sympathetic detonation as their home made explosives detonated.
At the proof positive that their attempt had failed, the enemy started firing wildly in our general direction. Never mind that, at this distance, the 7.62x39 round had all the force of a spitball…did they think anybody was making 7.62x39 in this fallen world? Or that they would be receiving resupply anytime soon?
"Ok, boys, you know the drill. Time to dance." I said. I took off my combat vehicle crewman helmet (CVC) and hung it on it's hook.
Unlike the three other weres in my pitiful "command", I am a Wulven. Instead of an overly large wolf, I turn into a humanoid wolf form. My uniform and body armor was special made to conform to the changes in my body structure. My weres had all stripped down and were all wearing upsized versions of the standard K-9 body armor.
Sure, super-mutant healing is nice, but not needing it is better…and silver bullets exist.
My human soldiers hunkered down in their vehicles. No point in wasting ammo or taking stupid chances.
"Go get'em, Major!" yelled T-square as I opened the hatch. In this form, I could no longer speak English, but I barked in approval as I bounded out of the hatch.
Normally, in my first enlistment, field grade officers do not lead fire teams into the enemy.
But that was then, this was now.
The four of us bounded up the slope. I've watched the videos – the werewolves are lean and graceful. Me? I move more like the Hulk, the Thing, or maybe at best, Wolverine in the old Saturday morning cartoons.
We were careful. The secondary objective was to scavenge. The Muj were already starting to break and run – as if running from a werewolf ever did a human any good? Those were chased down by my were's and dispatched.
The cagier ones stood firm - not that the tactic worked any better, with me around.
I could smell them in their hiding places. It was too hard to dig, so they hid behind Sangars of piled up rock.
I had a modified AR-10, firing a .308 round, and modified to handling my sausage-like Wulven "fingers"
I had no illusions of imminent re-supply. Back when I was simply a human, I had been a fair combat shooter.
My wulven-enhanced eyesight could literally put a bullet into an exposed eye socket.
Ten Muj, ten headshots.
It was over in seconds.
I slung my rifle and began field-stripping bodies. The other three, TJ, Shaun, and Ben, loped down to the vehicles, to become human, get their battle rattle on, and lead the scavenger teams.
My machete was hacking off heads. No need for any of these to arise as shamblers.